The Seraph's Broken Wings
by Sinead Rivka
Summary: Sequel to The Angel's Halo. This is the story of what happens after Willow, the Master Chief, and the Arbiter help end the human-Covenant war, and the troubles that would plague them as a result of their choices. M for violence
1. Chapter 1

The Seraphs' Broken Wings  
By: Sinead

Chapter One

_**Author's Note:** Right. So this is the asked-for sequel to "The Angel's Halo," and I actually got around to thinking about a plotline. Originally, I wasn't going to do a sequel, thinking that "Angel's Halo" stood fine all on its own, but hey, all right, Spacefan, you win. I'm writing a second one. As usual, if I owned Halo and Halo 2 . . . I wouldn't bother telling anyone; I'd be mobbed. Now! On with the show!_

* * *

John rested his hand upon the firm, warm, round abdomen of the woman lying on the bed beside him, wearing an old t-shirt of his that wouldn't reach down all the way to her waist, and for good reason: she was six months along in her pregnancy. Triplets, believe it or not. Triplets! His! To be a father . . . to raise three children, none of them expected, obviously, but welcomed nevertheless. By everything holy, he never expected that his seed would be virile after all the years of combat situations and battles . . .

But to be a _father_ . . .

Fingers traced invisible patterns over the warm midriff, reveling in feeling one of the three kick at him in what seemed to be a "leave off with the tickling" sort of attitude. Smiling, John sighed, resting his hand flat upon the gravid woman's hip, still wondering about the way a woman's body changed itself to carry children.

Leave that be, he wanted to know how he had the audacity to be blasted _gentle_. It wasn't really trained into him by the war-strewn life he'd lived so far, so who knew that he would be affectionate and . . . blast it! How did it happen! _How_ could he have impregnated her! The part of augmentation that boosted his growth so that he was larger and stronger than normal humans was supposedly going to _suppress_ his sex drive! _Why_ did he . . . wait, he'd been with one other woman before, but that was different. She was another Spartan, and . . . they were bored and curious. And besides, Kelly dared him to kiss her. Like he had a choice? He, who never loses a bet or turns down a dare? He was blasted lucky that it was only them in the room for the dare, and the two hours that happened . . . oh.

_Once bitten . . ._ John thought with resignation. He should have remembered that once the contact had begun, his mind virtually shut down on itself, and instincts took over. Instincts that he had never once doubted in his years, and that Mendez had said to _always_ trust. If he'd been told to trust his feelings once, he'd been told a thousand times.

He turned his mind from those thoughts and back to the present, seeing the pregnant beauty beside him open blue eyes to meet his stormy azure gaze squarely. He traced one eyebrow, pushing hair back from her face as he did so. "Three months to go."

"Less," she replied softly. "Twins and triples rarely make it to their full term."

He never had forgotten the first time he had seen her. So determined, so almost naive, so ready to take one the entire Covenant fleet, if need be . . .

So scared.

But she had been absolutely amazing in her control of her emotions, in completely understanding risks, then taking them on with a clear-headed ability that any Spartan was in possession of and used on a daily basis.

And yet, the rare times that he had seen her in distress . . . he had nearly lost it because of the same reason: the fact that she was being told that her finally-legal husband had gone out on a mission and was proclaimed missing-in-action a week later. The second time he had seen her completely desolated was on the two-year anniversary of that date they had told her.

* * *

John held her hands still. "You don't know what you're saying!"

"I do bloody too! They won't go after him! They're leaving him because he's not one of us! They're cowards, all of them! John, _let me go_!"

"No. They don't know where he is."

"But I have to go after him! Let me go, let me _go_!" Her tears flowed down her cheeks unchecked, her blue eyes nearly black with her anger and her emotional pain. Carefully, John pulled her into his arms as an older-brother-figure should, feeling her entire body shake with the effort of sobbing, the need to do something. "Please don't keep me here . . ."

Sighing, John aimed his formidable glare at those who had delivered the message. They left silently, not wanting to be near the renowned woman when she snapped. They wouldn't know how to deal with it. The Master Chief, however, did. "Willow, listen to me–"

"Let me go to him!"

"Neither of us were told where his mission was taking him. ONI won't tell anyone why they were sending him, nor where he was going! Now _calm down_!"

"'Calm down'! _He's my husband_, blast you, and I'm going to him! Let go!"

John tensed himself, knowing exactly what was going to come next, feeling her own body-tension right before she rammed her knee up firmly into his crotch as hard as she could, not caring anymore. The Spartan grunted slightly, holding her against his chest, telling himself to ignore his pain, that it would leave momentarily, that she was angry and didn't know what she was doing . . .

And Willow Takayuurei, her legal last name not usually mentioned due to its Elite complex pronunciation, broke down, weeping, apologizing, clinging to John. He relaxed his arms, knowing that she wouldn't attack again, noticing that she was about to collapse. So the Master Chief picked her up and sat with her upon a reinforced couch, letting her rest against his side. She fell asleep later with her head upon his thigh, tears still flowing, her right hand clutching at her left shoulder.

Carefully, once she was asleep, the man leaned back, letting another soft groan out as he shifted his still-sore places, hoping that she'd never again catch him like that. If she did . . . he wasn't looking forward to it in the least.

For almost two years she had held hope, but on the anniversary of the second year, there was no consoling her. "Willow, please . . ."

"Let me _die_, John. He's . . . he's really gone."

"Why are you giving up?" The idea of even _thinking_ about giving up was alien to the Spartan. To do so was nigh upon what the Covenant had called heresy. "You've lived through far worse than waiting for someone to come home."

"Yes, I have, haven't I?" she snarled back at him, pacing the room. "Married a man who loved me and died in my arms from needler-shot. Been interrogated, tortured and raped, drafted into an Elite Brotherhood because I had been Claimed, dealt with the Flood, with Covenant idiots. On top of that, I've been leading the fight with the psychotic imbeciles in ONI that think that our allies, the Hunters and Elites and the majority of the Grunts, should have no rights here. We've been _lucky_ that those aliens are helping us subdue the remaining Covenant jerk-offs, and the Brass don't give a gold-lined crap about it! Yes, John, I'm tired. I'm tired of this life, of living in a society that doesn't appreciate the simplicities in life. Do you hear me, Spartan? I'm _done_. I want no more of this world."

He took a step closer to her. "Of a world where you've helped to bring hope back to by existing and bringing to us comrades that would help us win against the Covenant? Of a world where three, four species can now live in relative harmony? You and Arbiter set an example that humans and Elites aren't that different from each other." He was within reach of her, and brushed her wayward fiery hair away from her face. "The world still needs _you_, Willow. It needs heroes, Johnson told me once. You're grouped in with us heroes, and I know you don't like it."

She slapped his hand away, turned to look out the window and down at the complex she lived in with Elites and the Spartan-IIIs. The world knew only the olive-and-golden mask that the Spartans hid behind, but she knew their faces, their names, their specialties, their loves and personalities. They knew the Elites, the Sangheili, as near-silent monsters that only talked when they knew that someone could help translate, turning their harsh, guttural snarls into flowing praises of encouragement. She knew the Sangheili as a complex society that had bonds that ran deeper than blood; bonds that kept them together by silent vows and by something akin to the humans' perception of a familial love.

Willow knew what others would have died to find out. She changed the subject when he joined her by the window, resting her head against his arm in a companionable way. She was PMSing royally this time, and couldn't wait to get her monthly over with so that she wouldn't have to deal with the exacerbated mood-swings that had been caused over the last two years of pure stress. "Why haven't you been on assignment with the other 'Twos when they went out on missions?"

John had grown used to both her need for physical contact and the changing of her moods within the first three months, always there to help her. As the remaining Spartan-IIs called the IIIs their younger siblings, despite being old enough to be their parents, they taught them everything that they knew, always affectionately calling them little brothers and sisters. John had spoken with the other IIs, asking them to include Willow as an honorary Spartan, which was readily accepted. She didn't train with the IIIs all the time, but she was always included with them. And the IIs on mission contacted him if a snag was found, or generally checked up with him regularly so he didn't have to be with them on missions. All they had to do was open a com to him, which he only turned off when they were home and safe.

The Master Chief sighed. "Because you need someone you know around you. Someone who you trust. The Brass were going to assign someone to watch over you, to prevent you from killing yourself." He shrugged the slightest bit, then moved his arm to encircle her shoulders warmly. "Vice-Admiral Keyes is over your 'custody platoon,' as some of those in it have called it, and I volunteered to be the person who was directly in contact with you." He felt his hands take hers, seeing the old pain resurface in her eyes. Three tears dripped to the joined fingers . . . the only three tears that did. The Spartan kissed the rest away, unaware that he was doing so, that Willow was allowing him to do so, and that she was actually giving as good as she was getting.

* * *

That had been six months before, John remembered, smiling slightly, his hands still holding Willow's stomach lightly once she turned her back to rest against his chest. He sighed into the back of her neck. "You're all right?"

"If you're asking if my mood swings are dead, try again."

He chuckled. "No, never that. I want to know how you're doing with hauling these three around."

"They behave better than you do."

They heard careful scrambling somewhere near the beginning of the long main hall, causing the Chief to sigh and get out of the bed, pulling a t-shirt over his muscled chest carefully, not wanting to rip it. He had already been wearing flannel pants. "If it's that brat Boratamee or any of his friends, I'm going to wring their scrawny Elite necks. I'll be right back. These kids should know better than to be running around at this hour."

She rolled to face the ceiling, smiling. "Have at it, John. He needs to learn that not everyone can stay up for three consecutive days at a time."

John opened and closed the door, running silently towards the booted Elite feet still running at a near-breakneck pace. Once the Elite rounded a corner, coming to the mouth of the smaller offshoot of the main hall, they both skidded to a halt. Panting, the Elite walked the final steps, holding his hand out in silent greeting.

John gripped it firmly, nodding once, and holding his finger up to his mouth, motioning for silence as they walked into a soundproofed room. Once there, John turned and asked, "Where in the seven circles of hell _were_ you, Arbiter!"

The "heretic" seemed to have two separate bundles, one hanging upon each side. As he turned the lights on, John looked in to see two . . . infants. Elite infants. Arbiter replied, "Returning back to a safe zone after jumping blindly. After that, saving these two."

"Whose are they?"

"Are you going to tell Willow whose they are?"

John looked up at Arbiter. "Put them down somewhere, and don't kill me when I tell you this."

"She _is_ alive," Dragon Arbiter snarled as he did as the Master Chief said to, not allowing the man to break eye-contact.

"She is. But . . . first, tell me who these two are. Then I'll tell you about Willow."

The silvery helmet was removed, and Dragon rubbed at the top of his head, feeling an old, cris-crossing scars as he did so. "I have a lot to explain to you for you to understand."

"I have time. Willow thinks that I'm chewing out some Elite kids who thinks they run this place. And before you ask, yes, I've been keeping tabs on her so that she didn't do anything stupid."

Giving the equivalent of a snort, Arbiter held back from speaking. He knew what the Demon was going to say about the fact that he and Willow were rarely ever seen apart. And that she was pregnant. So he started in telling about who the Elite infants were. "If a female of my kind manage to get into enough trouble, they're given a task. That would be to carry and deliver a child, or, if the case were bad enough, twins."

"They're twins, then?"

"Male and female. But if there is a repeat offence, the . . ." He blinked. "Whatever you wish to call it, I care not; the seed provided is usually either an outlaw's or a heretic's, depending upon severity."

"They're yours," John said instantly, seeing how the Elite stood before them in a subtle yet protective way. "How . . . ?"

"I was tortured in many ways," the Elite hissed. "Ask nothing else about it."

John saw the shadowed malice, and wisely backed off from that course. "What about the girl?"

"She died in childbirth, but had searched me out beforehand, hearing that I was among my people again. I had to hide, and what better way to hide than within plain sight of your pursuers?"

John nodded once. "So she found you."

"And I allowed her to stay with me, as her family had turned her out. The transgressions were not hers to begin with. She was the eldest daughter; her younger sister wanted her dowry." Sitting, suddenly tired, Arbiter shrugged, a body language trait he had picked up from being immersed in the human culture. "I could not turn her away. I made her as comfortable as I was able to, and even had to pretend that we were mated when we moved from place to place." His almost-luminescent eyes found the Chief's. "The burden of carrying these two and birthing them was too much for her, and she died, but not without two of her desires fulfilled."

"Desires?"

"A dying Elite female in childbirth has the right to demand three things."

"Makes sense."

"It should. When you were still swinging from tree to tree, human, we had a complex society with technology that, now, would seem to be a joke, however . . ."

"On with the point, Arbiter. What were the wishes?"

"First, that she not be alone when she died. She wanted her twins beside her, and the biological father of the twins to be with her as well. I . . ." After clamping his mandibles shut for a moment, he whispered, "But I went one step further and Claimed her before she died."

"Is that legal? More than one mate?"

"Sometimes, human, it used to be necessary for one male to have more than one female mate, so there was a wider variety. At some points in Sangheili history, there had been two females to every one male. That, however, had been a long time ago. Willow . . . would not have minded, given the circumstances."

John shook his head. "Minded? Blast, Elite, she would have _insisted_. You know her better than I do, and I know her enough that those circumstances would have made her _make_ you Claim that poor girl."

"So you don't think she would turn on me for doing so?"

Running his hand through his short hair, John shook his head. "No. She'd be proud of you. Besides, you've been gone for over two years. She needs you back with her." Their gazes found one another's, and the Spartan continued. "What was the second demand?"

"That I care for and raise the twins. And by the Rings, I will."

"I don't doubt that. Third?"

"That I try to convince Willow to adopt them as well, if I could pry her off of me long enough to speak. She said that while laughing, since she had heard me almost continuously talking about my wife since we had come to meet each other." Arbiter looked at the Master Chief. "Your turn. What is it that makes you want to hide?"

John sighed. "Six months ago, she was about to try to kill herself. I've been the only one around her when she got like that, and have diverted her before, teaching her new hand-to-hand techniques, diverting her attention to helping someone else, the like." He sighed. "That last time, though, she wouldn't listen to me. At least we were still talking and she wasn't trying to kill me."

Arbiter waited. John had to admit. The human had to speak, to confess.

The Spartan looked over at the alien that he once would have killed without a glance over his shoulder as he passed the dying, bleeding body. But now . . .

"You've been prisoner to your instincts before," the human said quietly. "I never saw it coming. I didn't mean to . . . but it happened."

"Straighten your words. Speak them again," Arbiter said, not letting John off the hook that easily.

"Curse you . . . I was with Willow."

"Define 'with.' I know you were with her a lot, keeping her company."

"I slept with her. You know that phrase. Don't play coy."

Arbiter stood, stalking over to the human mirror of what he was, his face coming lower to be at John's level. "You have been sleeping with my wife, my Claimed."

"Yes."

"You own up to it."

"There's more."

"I figured, human."

"She's pregnant. Triplets."

Now _that_ shocked Arbiter into straightening, backing a half-step up. All that he had heard was that she was carrying the Master Chief's child within her . . . not _three of them_! "You . . ."

John held his hands out from his sides in a helpless gesture. "With all the adjustments that had been made to my body, I wasn't even supposed to _desire_! I was as shocked as _you_ are that not only am I able to, but that _I'm_ reproductively sound!"

"Triplets . . . three?"

John pressed his hands to his face. "Yes. Three. I'm sorry, Arbiter. I didn't know."

Recovering just that slight bit, the Elite reached over and gripped the human's shoulder, pulling him slightly to look up at the taller being's face. After a long, searching look, Dragon sighed, then bowed his head, resting his other hand for balance upon John's other shoulder. "You fathered three with her."

"I didn't know that I would. That I _could_."

"I understand that."

John blinked in shock.

Arbiter looked back at him evenly, calmly. "I understand the strange urges of instinct. I understand that you have been most likely agonizing over telling me if I ever returned. _I understand_."

"Willow once said that to interfere in a Claim is to forfeit your life."

"Fortunately," Arbiter replied, "I have no wish to kill you. You have kept her alive for me. You have given her purpose." He snickered in an open, friendly way. "Rather, _filled_ her with purpose, when _I_ have not the ability to do so."

"Stop playing with words, Elite; I'm stressed enough with having to face you. What are you saying?"

"That I believe that I am thankful. She wanted children. I could not give that to her. _I_ wanted children, and she could not give that to _me_, much as she desired to." Dragon Arbiter sighed, his mandibles clicking softly; a sad smile. "Now it is time that I attended to her and helped her with this last leg of carrying the children." He drew the human back over to the infants. "And I will need your help while doing so. Don't try to sneak out of it."

"I'm just glad you don't want to kill me. I'd hate to have to kill you when you just got back, and that wouldn't have me on good standing with Willow."

Smirking inwardly, Arbiter replied, "Don't think you're getting that close to her again."

John leaned over the smaller of the twins, trying to drain the tension in the room. "Arbiter, I'm blasted thankful that you're alive, that you're back, and that ONI won't send you back out for a long while."

"Why do you say that?"

Smiling, John picked the infant up to cradle it easily. Miranda Keyes had a three-year-old child, and he had often become babysitter with Willow starting two years ago, so she insisted that he learn to hold a babe properly. "Because they know better than to risk the life of one of the UNSC's best again."

* * *

Willow wanted to be pregnant forever. The joy in having three small lives growing within her and having to be needed again made her feel the best that she had in a long while. Things were well with her, if not perfect. She was having children, she was needed again, she had someone who she could go to with "trivial" problems . . .

She had back pain.

Groaning, she turned away from the door. If John came back in soon, he knew that signal.

The door opened. Back already, was he? She heard him walk over the carpet, his feet falling heavily. He must have beaten the boy into a raw pulp if he was that tired. Something clattered upon the table . . . a few things did, actually, in a rhythmic way that tugged at some memory she had shoved away in her mind. She dismissed it, thinking that he must have run into Johnson again, who always gave him some either new or antique weapon or another to fool around with. Then came the sound of cloth being pulled off of one's body, the upper half by the sound of it, then the feel of the sheets moving away from her back.

He didn't close the door . . . odd.

Non-human hands gently rested around her, and non-human tears dripped to her left shoulder, reminding her of the blood she had bled when . . . she had been . . . Claimed . . .

Turning as quickly as he pregnant body would allow, she saw the old, long scar upon the top of the Elite's head, the strained look around his face. She cried out, trying to wrap as much as herself around her husband as she could. He mouthed the scars gently, renewing his oath to her silently. She felt his hands start to explore the new curves pregnancy had given her, inspecting her swollen abdomen thoroughly before resting his face against hers. "I'm weary, wife."

"Welcome home, husband. Why is the door open?"

"The father of your children holds my own children."

She pushed him away slightly, sitting up with a near-silent groan at the movement, seeing the Master Chief holding two bundles. One started setting up a fine squall, causing Arbiter to chuckle and turn the lights on, taking the noisy one with a soothing noise, closing the door. "And I have a preposition to make, my Claimed."

"Later?"

"Quite definitely. Here, this is Yukae."

"Are they both males?"

"Hah, no. This is my little, noisy, bothersome daughter whom I will marry off with all due haste to a rich male that will spoil her wonderfully, as is traditional." He rested the infant within her arms, seeing her gentle the child instantly. His hand took hers, delighting in her acceptance of his small Yukae. "And you will have the traditional duty of raising her to be formidable, fierce, demanding, vexing, and above all, loving."

Willow laughed, tears starting to flow again, not letting the Arbiter's hand go. He traced her features gently with his free hand, wiping the tears with a fine-tuned tender movement that he didn't have before the mission two years ago. He let his eyes smile for her, and she looked down at the still-fussing little female. "What does her name mean? And _why_ is she fussy?"

"Her name means gem. It's not too common anymore." He blinked at the little one, clicking his jaws at her a few times, getting her to quiet slightly. "She's hungry." He looked at John. "Come, bring the boy. Willow won't let me free."

"If I wasn't this pregnant, Elite, John would have blushed pure crimson and closed the door on us moments after I had seen you again. You bet on your _life_ I'm not letting you go," the woman replied. "And what is your son's name?"

"Sibilee. Steady watcher."

"Sounds almost like 'vigilant' in a strange way," Willow said, reaching out to brush her fingers along the side of the infant's face. "How are they yours?"

John handed the male-child to his father, going to the kitchen to prepare a warm drink for Willow and himself, as well as one for the Arbiter, who had given him a look that said, "We'll not sleep much tonight."

Nor did they.


	2. Chapter 2

The Seraph's Broken Wings  
By: Sinead

Chapter Two

Arbiter's head suddenly felt too light. "Wh-what do you have to do?"

The obstetrician chuckled kindly, her smile easing back onto her face. She had asked long ago to get the translator programs for her neural implant, and was well-pleased with her decision. "Willow wants to birth the triplets naturally, but her body wouldn't be able to take the strain. She knows that, and told me that I would be the better one to tell you."

"You have to cut into her to birth the children?"

"It's called a caesarian-section, and it's been used for hundreds of years. It's a safe procedure."

"But you have to cut . . ."

"Yes. She asked to at least birth one of them, and we're willing to let her do that. You'll be able to deliver the firstborn child, if you like. I know that it's custom with your kind for the husband to assist in birthing the children." She rested her hand upon the Elite's arm. "So don't worry. Everything that we're doing is safe."

"I . . . don't . . ."

A hefty, open-palmed blow on his back caused him to stumble a step forwards, seeing his seven-month-old children clinging to John, gibbering away. Their physical development was twice as fast as a human's would be in the first three years of life, and they were already walking and running, but _complete_ maturation took as long as a human's did. The Spartan shrugged slightly. "She knows that she has to help you raise all these wild beings. Don't make her worry about _you_, too."

"I . . . don't think that I could keep myself from . . ."

"Passing out? Arbiter, it's a common medical procedure. Don't worry about it."

"She is all right with it, you said?" Arbiter asked, turning back to the woman doctor.

"Believe me. She doesn't want it done, but she knows that it's the healthiest way for both her and the children," was the reply.

Sibilee reached for his father, babbling the word for "mother," clearly wanting to see her. After a deep sigh, Dragon nodded. "So be it. If she is fine with it, then I will always support her decision."

They were brought back to the dimmed room, where both Yukae and Sibilee squealed with glee at seeing their adopted mother. Yukae went straight to the bed beside Willow, curling against the soon-to-be mother's side. Willow rested her hand upon the young Elite's head, smiling up at her husband. He nodded once, and the decision was final. Not the decision of the c-section, but of a more serious one; one that they had talked about through long, sleepless nights.

And she closed her eyes, whispering, "Kay, little sweetling, go back to your Uncle John. He's going to bring you and Sib to your cousins, all right?"

She heard a small whimper, then felt the child hug her in her young way, then move back over to be picked up by the Chief. Sibilee took her place, and she chuckled, telling him to look out for his younger sister, and to play nice with the "cousins," also known as the Spartan-IIIs. That next generation of the Spartans were wonderful with their Elite comrades, always willing to let a helping hand enter into their circle.

Provided, of course, that they could pass the rite of entry and kill a berserking Brute before said alien could kill _them_.

* * *

The thin wail caused Willow to sigh and lay back, smiling. Arbiter had wisely backed out of birthing the firstborn, instead posting himself by Willow's left. He wouldn't have known what to do in the first place. Yet both he and Willow had insisted that John stay in the room to be there for the birthing. The wailing infant was cleaned and brought up to her mother, who took the little girl and kissed her crown lightly. "The first of the identical two, and the third a boy. You're a little beautiful one, you are." She looked up at Arbiter, who only reached over to rest a finger upon the small cheek. Once his eyes found hers, renewing her faith in their decision, she looked at John. "Could you hold her, please?"

"Me?" John's voice cracked.

Trying not to laugh too hard, Willow nodded. "Come, now, you gave her life. Hold the child."

He smiled, feeling as if his massively-muscled arms were almost too strong, yet too weak at the same time, to hold the small girl-child, falling in love with her face the instant he did so. He sighed, feeling a terrible sense of loss start to form in his stomach. He was this child's biological father, but he knew that Arbiter would be adopting the children as his own. John had insisted upon that fact, ignoring his own heart's silent keening at its loss when the hope and chance to raise a child as his own was dashed.

"Are you ready, Willow?" the doctor asked.

Closing her eyes, sighing, she nodded, reaching up to grip the Dragon Arbiter's hand. He resolutely told his stomach to behave, and concentrated upon not passing out as he watched Willow's face, seeing her lock her eyes upon his for a brief moment before closing again. The remaining two were born without a snag, and soon both Willow and Arbiter were holding one each. She smiled at her little son, hearing his small murmurings. "What do you think of the name Keith, Dragon?"

"Mm . . . odd, in a way. Sounds strong, though."

"Fine. Come up with a better human one."

"M-me! Not a chance, woman! You're to name these two. I was told to name _my_ twins, so _you_ name these!"

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

John blinked from one to the other. "She's naming those two? Why not this one?"

Willow aimed her blue gaze at the father of her children, and one of the best friends she could ever have. "Because he's only adopting these two."

Something was strange here. The Chief sat as the words penetrated deeper into his mind. "What about _her_?"

Willow smiled, reaching over to tip his chin up so their eyes met. "She is yours to raise. Wait, listen to me, John. Don't think that I haven't seen your face, that I haven't been listening to your side of those late-night conversations we used to have before Arbiter came back. I know that you wanted to raise a family. That you wanted to raise these three with me. I told Dragon about those yearnings right after he came home to me, and he instantly suggested that since we were having triplets . . . why not allow one of them to at least be raised by their biological father?"

"_You_ . . ." John whispered, looking at the Elite. "Why, though? I'm not . . ."

"Not what?" Arbiter asked. "Not worthy? _I_ could have told you that, Demon, but even I don't believe it. You _are_ worthy. You have kept Willow alive, you have given her reason, given her need, given her your complete trust and care, while not demanding a single thing in return. I am thankful that you gave her children, as I have already told you."

"If this is payment . . ."

"Hah!" Willow barked softly. "Never in the least." She smiled at him. "This is giving you a dream you've been dreaming." Her smile became more tender, her voice softening. "Name her."

John couldn't breathe, it felt, then looked down at the infant girl, seeing her eyes crack open slightly. He was shocked to see small wet drops appear upon the blanket that swaddled his child.

_His_ child.

Wet drops . . . tears?

Yes, he was crying.

Sniffing massively once, he rubbed at his face, almost ashamed. But then again, he had never been so happy. Willow, she who mothered this child . . . she was blessing him with completing his dream, his world. And the Arbiter was agreeing with her . . .

"Phaedra." He smiled, looking up at Willow and the Elite behind her. Both were watching him, approving him, telling him through their gazes alone that they had long ago decided that it was only right for him to raise one of the three. "Phaedra . . ."

"Can't think of a middle name?" Willow teased lightly, reaching over to flick a tear off of his cheek almost-absently.

He shied away from her hand, giving her a _look_ as he used the ball of his hand to rub at his face. "No. Not yet, anyway. What will you name those two?"

"Pandora Rhiann," Willow replied instantly, smiling at the girl in Arbiter's strong, gentle arms. She looked down at the small boy. "And I don't know about him yet. Both Phaedra and Pandora are Greek . . . so . . . drat. Oh, be useful and hand me that book, will you, Arbiter?"

He did so, brushing hair back from her shoulder as she opened the book. "Greek . . . Arri, from Aristotle; Kristopher with a 'K;' Cosmo," she grinned up at John. "Damon."

"Oh, _don't_ go there," John groaned out. "I know that one of the meanings is 'demon.'"

Snickering, she resumed her search of fitting Greek names that she happened to like. "Doraen; Makarios; Orion . . . and then there's a whole slew of name-variations for Peter and Philip."

"Such as?" Arbiter asked.

"For starters, Paedar, Peder, Pedro, Perren, Pete, Pierce, Piers, Pierre, Pieter, Petro, Petr, Petros. I really can't see him answering to any of those names. Then for Philip, there's Felipe, Filippo, Pepe, Phil, Phillip, Philippe, Pip, Phip. Pip and Phip are nice, but he'd be mortified about them during his teenage years."

"What's after Philip?"

"Phineas. Egyptian. And Plato."

"I think we'd better find a name that fits him, rather than sticking him in with two sisters with the same first letter to the name. After all," Arbiter said, "there's Yukae and Sibilee to contend with."

Willow nodded, diving back into the name-searching. "Quirin doesn't have a known origin, and it has a nice sound; Ulysses; Zinon."

"Aristo . . . possibly. Damon with a variation?"

"Add in an 'E' to make Daemon?"

"Maybe. Doraen . . . Orion . . ."

"Orion sounds nice."

"Orion, then. What of his second name, Willow?"

She flipped through the book. "Orion Gabriel . . . Orion Michael . . . Orion Malachai?"

The Arbiter blinked at a few of the names she was passing. "John Orion."

Both humans blinked at him. He blinked back. "Junior?"

* * *

"All right, then," the orderly said after he was admitted into the room. "Have you chosen names? The adoption papers are here, everything's ready."

Willow went through the paperwork, seeing parts that had yet to be filled out. With a flick, she pulled out the adoption papers for the firstborn. "She'll be staying with her biological father."

The orderly blinked in complete shock. "But that's . . ."

"That is _what_?" Arbiter growled out.

"With _him_?"

"Yes, and there will be _no questions asked_. I noticed that you had no qualms about my adopting my wife's other two children. Care to explain, or will you do as you're told to?"

Clearing his throat, the orderly asked, "Firstborn's name? That is, the first of the two girls."

"Phaedra Taylor."

"Last name?"

John knew his original last name, but never had used it in all the years since his recruitment. For legal purposes, they had it changed when he was still too young to go against it. Besides. It sounded like what he was, and that pleased him. That was the one he was supposed to use. Blinking at the infant, he smiled slightly, not liking this orderly in the least. He'd give her his legal last name. "Spaldin."

Willow was holding back her laugher. John would snap at this man soon, if she didn't catch him. Well, of course, that is if she wanted to. Which she didn't. She had seen that small smile before, and knew that it only meant trouble.

"Next oldest was the other girl?"

"Pandora Rhiann," Willow replied. "And I'm going to spell out her last name for you."

"No need, please just say it."

Grinning up at Arbiter, she did, with all the correct pronunciation. "So do you want me to spell that? Or would you like for me to repeat it?"

The orderly cleared his throat. "Spell it, please?"

"V-o-u-z-a-k-u-a-m-e-e. And there's an apostrophe between the 'U' and the 'A.' Yep, that's right. Thank you."

By now, the orderly knew who he was dealing with. He saw the clipboard at the bottom of the woman's bed, and knew her name. He had heard of Sergeant-Major Willow Takayuurei Vouzaku'amee. He knew of the Elite she had married . . . and of his MIA status that had lasted two years and six months. He had heard of the Master Chief being the Sergeant-Major's only support in those years.

And something clicked into place in his mind. This was the Master Chief. This pale man with his proud, sad eyes . . . he was the hero of many battles. He . . . fathered these triplets.

Willow and John noticed the considerable pause in between asking the names of the newborns, and exchanged a knowing glance. No sooner than that had happened, than Johnson burst into the room, grinning. "So I missed seeing these three born? And all that that implies?"

"As if I would let you near my wife in any circumstance where she was not clothed properly," Arbiter replied.

The orderly nearly passed out. Four war-heroes in one room . . .

Vice-Admiral Keyes walked in as well, her face wreathed in a smile and her son sitting upon her hip. "What are their names?"

"We're working on that," Willow replied. "Seems as if this orderly has the audacity to think that us 'heroes' are anything but mortal." She looked at him. "So are you going to document my son's name, or are you going to stand there? The boys have to sign the adoption papers."

Clearing his throat, the orderly readied his stylus. "Name, please?"

"John Orion Vouzaku'amee."

"A junior!" Johnson exclaimed. "Ah-hah! I _knew_ you were always a sap, Willow!"

"Can it, Johnson. Arbiter suggested it."

"Really? So _he's_ the sap." The dark-skinned man melted anew at the sight of one of the infants yawning widely. "Aww, but they're so cute . . . Can I hold one?"

"Not a chance," John growled, signing the places where he was required to, still holding his Phaedra.

Miranda smiled, reaching over to rest her hand lightly upon John Orion's small, bundled side. "Congratulations, Willow. From one mother to another."

"Thank you," Willow replied. She looked at Johnson. "Hey, you! Go get my other two kids. You know, the noisy–"

"Yes, I know. The noisy bastards. And I can bet anything that they're with those blasted, no-good kiddies that they call the Spartan-Threes, and _they'll_ never let me leave with the twins without an escort . . ." Johnson grumbled, retreating from the room.

Before long, Yukae and Sibilee crawled up onto the bed, seeing the triplets. But before they could be introduced, however, a Private First-Class ran into the room as the orderly crept out. He handed the Master Chief a datapad. Dismay wrote itself over the older man's face, and he sighed. "I'm being reassigned."

"What?" Willow asked softly. "To where?"

"A civilian post. A long-term mission in a suburb town in Massachusetts, south of Boston, helping Elites . . . the Sangheili, adapt to a new life. To help them and humankind 'get along' and cooperate."

"Crappy mission, but that's not too far away," Willow said. "The Spartan-Threes' base is just north-east of the old DC . . ."

"I have orders not to meet with any of the military in person."

Arbiter looked at the man. "Anything else?"

"That . . . I'm . . . blast it. I can't say it."

"ONI crapola again?" Willow asked.

"No. It's just hard to." He deleted the message, handing the pad back to the ensign, a clear dismissal. Once the boy was gone, he said, looking at Keyes, "It appears that you and I have to live together."

"At least my son looks enough like you," Miranda replied. "I knew about this mission for the last day, but didn't want to trouble you with it until the triplets were born. And I've put in for retirement from the war. I'm not needed in the military. There's enough people who are fresh enough and don't have a young son to worry about, and a dead husband to mourn. They understood."

Willow reached over to grip Miranda's hand. She had been there. She knew. "Don't forget to keep in touch when you _do_ go."

"I have to leave tomorrow," John whispered. "I don't want to take Phaedra away from you so soon."

"You're not taking her," Willow said softly, reaching over to his face. He allowed her to rest her palm there this time. She smiled. "I'm letting her go. She'll be better off with you to raise her. She'll be strong." Her smile widened. "Now, Yukae, Sibilee, meet baby John, baby Pandora, and baby Phaedra. These are your new siblings."

Yukae giggled, reaching out delicately to touch Pandora while her father held the child. Sibilee crawled over to peer down at baby John, as quiet as his sister was vocal. Willow looked at John solemnly, letting him see through her face that she would miss him not being around.

He nodded slowly. He'd miss not being around her, as well.

The matter decided, they lightened their expressions, tending to the newborns and the children, Miranda's young Aiden watching Phaedra, pushing upon the Spartan's knee to get a better look at the infant.

But as Arbiter watched all this, all he could think of was that it was a horrendous shame and a virtual crime for ONI to break up their support group. The losses would be mourned.


	3. Chapter 3

The Seraph's Broken Wings  
By: Sinead

Chapter Three

_**Author's Note:** Fluff chapter! Yeay! Fluffy! We get back to the plot after this one, and this explains some things, so you might want to read it all the way through. And yes, I know, John is a little OOC, but deal with it. He's been stressing with Willow for two-and-a-half years, and so his personality must have changed even the slightest bit while helping her. So humor me and read this, 'kay? Thanks!_

* * *

John had continually looked in upon his sleeping daughter as they traveled from what had been America's capitol to Boston. Miranda had watched his face each time, seeing his still-incredulous expression as he studied the small infant. Sighing, he sat back again, then glanced at Phaedra, and finally looked at Miranda, seeing that she had been watching him with a smile the entire time. Aidon was asleep beside her, his head upon her lap while her hand rested upon his shoulder. "She's fine."

Phaedra sneezed, and John jumped to look at her, seeing her shift slightly before sighing, never once opening her eyes. He heard the once-Vice-Admiral's kind chuckle, and rubbed at his face. "I don't know what to do . . ."

"That's all right. I'll help you."

John looked at his hands, large and formidable. "How will we do this?"

"What do you mean?"

"Everything about this assignment is strange. I don't know how to lead a civilian life. I don't know how to do civilian things. I'm military. Always have been. I don't remember much from before I was conscripted into the Spartan program." His gaze came up to meet hers. "I still don't even know how to really act around any female who isn't Spartan, Spartan-material, or in the military."

Keyes smiled, her face sad. "I know. Don't think I haven't seen it."

"Tell me what to do."

"I can't. You have to learn how to do things on your own."

"I don't understand."

She shook her head. "No worries." Sighing, the younger woman shrugged. "What about the sleeping situation?"

John cleared his throat, causing Keyes to laugh. "I know you've had it hard with the last one, but don't worry about it. You sleep where you want to. I've already been to the house, and it's large enough so that you can hide from whoever you don't want to see." Smiling, the woman relaxed just that bit further into her seat. "And it doesn't matter to me. This is an assignment of sorts for me, too. I'm retired from being a Vice-Admiral, but not from the military in general."

John let his sigh blow forth almost silently, seeing that the woman he would be sharing a house and a life with . . . she shared his sorrow. She didn't reach out, didn't move to touch him, didn't do anything to push at his boundaries, but he saw her compassion and sympathy in her gaze.

It was then that he knew that it might be easier than he had first thought.

* * *

The phone dialed instantly, and John gently shifted Phaedra in his arms, still trying to soothe her. The line picked up, and Willow's groggy voice snapped, "No, I'm not letting you–" 

"It's John."

Her sigh was deep and profound. "ONI wants to relocate us, but we're fighting it." She paused. "Phaedra?"

"Not a happy child. And Keyes–"

"Miranda. You _live_ with her, and you don't have to be formal about it. C'mon, John, you've called me Willow for the longest time. Can't you learn to be as informal with her?"

He winced. ". . . Miranda, then. She's out with her son, getting him some new clothing."

A wail broke out on the other end, an unearthly howl that caused Willow to turn the receiver away and roar out, "Sibilee!"

The howl stopped instantly.

John laughed silently, hearing Willow sigh and come back to their conversation. "Sib annoys Yukae within an inch of her life, and when she retaliates . . . he gets noisy about it."

"They're twins. So help me with this little bundle of problems."

"Checked her diaper?"

"Yes. Twice."

"Tried feeding her?"

"She didn't want it."

"Burped her?"

"Before she took her nap."

A contemplative silence filled Willow's end, ending with, "Try walking with her. You know how to do that."

"And if it doesn't work?"

"Call me back. Either way, call me back."

"I will. Thank you."

Her chuckle was soft. "No, John, I'll always be thanking _you_. You've always helped me fix my own problems."

They each signed off, and John looked at the fussing infant. "Little one, you seem to be more trouble than you are truly worth." Walking from room to room, he calmed his mind, trying not to react to her complaining. Stopping, sighing, he looked at her, seeing the young beauty apparent in her face, waiting for age to unfold it. And his voice was gentle. "You're going to be beautiful and fierce. Just like your mother. Please, it'll be all right, don't cry . . ."

She continued, and John shifted her so that she was in a slightly different angle, and sighed, jiggling her slightly, remembering how Willow had taught him to do, how to calm children. He couldn't make the same soothing noises, his voice hardened to a gruff gravelly tone from years of battle and screaming battle commands, but he tried. Eventually, he found himself in Miranda's room, and stopped. After two weeks, he was completely unpacked, his room neat and tidy, but hers . . .

There were still boxes in the corners. Anything that had been unpacked was where it should be, not one ounce of clutter lining a level surface, but . . . it was empty. She only unpacked the vital things.

He would have left the room to walk around some more, but . . .

* * *

Miranda didn't call out that she was home as she hefted her sleeping son into the house. Both of them were exhausted by all the tramping around to different stores to buy clothing, and she needed to put him to his bed and take a nap of her own before she unpacked the car. 

Aidon was tucked in, shifting only slightly as he was laid in bed, and the raven-haired woman was curious as to why the house was so silent. John was still here, because his car was in the garage, the baby's traveling bag and gear still by the door in case of need . . . He wasn't in his room on the first floor . . .

She shook her head, walking up the stairs into the master bedroom, which John had insisted that she have.

And stopped, smiling at the sight of the hulking man completely unconscious on one side of her large bed, breathing deeply. Phaedra was lying upon his chest, as asleep as he was, her breathing lighter and quicker. Miranda walked closer, and leaned over John, resting her hands upon his shoulders so as not to have him jump to complete wakefulness. His eyes opened in a flash, but he blinked a few times, remembering where he was. The woman whispered, "Your shoes are still on."

He winced, remembering belatedly her pet peeve, and was about to move when she shook her head, indicating Phaedra. "She's out for the count, Chief. I wouldn't move if I were you."

"But . . ."

"_I'll_ take care of the shoes, _you_ stay put."

"But I can't let you do that . . ."

"You can, and will." She smiled. "Besides. We live together, right? We're supposed to help each other. I'm taking a nap after I get those . . ." She sniffed. "Ugh. I hope that they don't _stink_." Shaking her head, she move to the end of the bed, pulling the boots off with ease. "I'm starting to wonder how Cortana survived you."

John felt a slow smile reach across his face at the mention of the hibernating AI. Miranda looked to his face, then crawled into the bed beside him, resting her head upon her arm and reaching over to trace the line of Phaedra's cheek. "I miss Willow."

The Master Chief felt the smile fade. "I do too. She knows what to do with children. I'm hopeless." Miranda looked at him, and he sighed, looking away. "And . . . you can call me John. Not everyone has to call me by my rank."

"As long as you call me Miranda, and not Keyes."

Protocol screamed at him for that, but he suppressed it. This was a new situation. And new situations called for new tactics and strategies. Nodding, he replied, "I can do that."

"Thank you."

He rested his hand upon his face, still trying to adjust to this new life. A smaller hand rested over his own, pulling herself closer so her body rested snugly against his side. He looked at Miranda, seeing her solemn eyes.

And knew that things would get better.

* * *

"Hey. Wake up." 

John snapped into full consciousness, reflex causing him to sit up as he did so. And wince as he looked to Miranda. Both of them had come to the conclusion that sleeping in separate rooms while making neighbors think that they were a married couple . . . well . . . it didn't work out so well. "What is it?"

"I'm sorry I woke you up, but I wanted to run something by you."

Shaking his head, relaxing his pose, he moved so that she could look at him easier. "All right; what is it?"

"They're talking."

"Who?"

"The neighbors."

He frowned. "Why?"

She held up her left hand, then indicated his. "The lack of ring, methinks?"

"Ah."

And it hit him completely, causing him to groan and hold his head on his hands. "Come out and say it straight next time." Rubbing at hair that he knew he should allow to grow out to a civilian length, but couldn't stand it while it did so, he sighed. "What are you suggesting?"

"I . . ."

His hand had gone up as he leapt out of the bed, silencing her. A combat knife was in his hands as he stalked out of the room, checking the children's rooms. Something had made a noise out here, and it _wasn't_ Aidon. It was bigger, heavier, and wore boots. Miranda stood at the door to their room, watching as he had gone from listening to her as an equal, then instantaneously switching into battle mode without batting an eye or faltering.

Not needing the light, John whirled, pinning the intruder and resting the edge of the knife against the back of the Elite's neck. "Who are you."

"Leader. Get off. We have to talk."

John stood with a massive sigh. "_Never_ sneak in here unless you want to die."

He flicked a light on, motioning for Miranda that it was all right, and she was beside him. The Elite didn't hesitate in opening the conversation. "I'm the only one allowed to meet with you face-to-face at this time. They wanted secure information to pass between our groups, and I was the one who volunteered." He gave an indication of a shrug, then set into the message. "Arbiter was given back his full birth-name. As you know, his family name was reinstated by the Council when he applied for his marriage with Willow. But now the High Council have finally allowed him to call himself by the name he was given at birth."

"Took them long enough," John growled softly. "What is it?"

"Torilian."

"What does it mean?" Miranda asked. "It must mean something serious and important if he's only gotten it back now."

"Smart woman you are," Leader commented, clicking his mandible in appreciative humor. "It comes from the words 'torril' and 'ilian,' respectively meaning 'warrior's soul' and 'freedom,' roughly translating into 'forever fly free, warrior.' It is a good name."

"It means something serious."

"It does. He will never be broken. The Prophet that had overseen the birthings of that day had a vision, and he immediately went to Arbiter's family, telling them of harsh trials that would happen to their child, warning them just before he was born."

"A . . . Prophet?"

"Not all Prophets are overzealous."

John sighed. "What has this to do with anything?"

"That Prophet came back. He's at ONI, and has seen the Arbiter already. He is old, but still strong." Leader stretched his shoulder. "And he has foreseen something horrible happening. Arbiter sent me to tell you, as he cannot come himself."

"What's he planning?"

"If anything happens to him and to Willow, then I would bring the twins and the other two of the triplets here, to you, and you would have full permission to explain everything that you could. Since Arbiter is now of a higher rank than I am, I insisted that he order me to do so. He complied."

"What else brings you here?" Miranda asked.

Leader held out a medium-sized box. "I'm bringing these to you. Willow and Arbiter insisted."

John took the box, opening it to reveal pictures. The first one he saw was of Willow before she gave birth, smiling tiredly, Arbiter and John turning towards the camera. Miranda chuckled. "I remember taking that one." She moved it out of the way, seeing the better picture of the two. "And I remember this one. That's a good picture of you, John."

Leader melted into the shadows again. "I'll be back whenever you need something to go to them, or if they need to give _you_ something. Farewell."

* * *

"John–" 

"I can't! It's . . . you know how much of a breach of protocol it is!"

"We're not in the public's eye anymore."

Pacing silently, John turned the situation over in his head again. "So this all comes down to the matter of a ring."

"More than that, and you _know_ it."

Making a noise of agreement, the man stopped pacing, turning towards the woman sitting upon the bed. Their whispered argument wasn't enough to wake either of the children. He sighed, sitting beside her. "So you would do this out of necessity." He saw the gold ring she still wore upon her left hand, then shook his head. "And I know that you're not looking forward to marrying again. You don't want to worry about losing another husband."

"I can deal with it."

John stood and paced again. Sometimes, sitting still did nothing for his mind. He had to _move_. His mind whirled. "But what would . . ." Stopping, he looked at Miranda. "Wait. The UNSC will be expecting this. They knew that something like this would happen."

"Definitely."

"And?"

She shrugged. "And what, John? Things aren't what they had been before. I can't raise Aidon on my own, and I don't think that you want to raise Phaedra on _your_ own." Her eyes pleaded with him.

He sagged, sitting before her on the floor, all procedure put on the back burner. He didn't have to be all military-type with Miranda. She was right. He _couldn't_ be the perfect military-man and raise a daughter. She needed a gentle touch, a careful hand . . . not rules set in stone. And she needed a mother. Or _would_ need one, when times changed. "Miranda, why didn't you just tell me that you wanted a bedmate? That would have shut me up at the very beginning."

Snorting, laughing incredulously, she looked at him. "That's not exactly what I had expected you to say."

The Master Chief shrugged. "Sometimes Willow needed to hear something of humanity from someone who wasn't treated as one. Two years of helping her live and keeping her spirits relatively fine . . . well . . . it's changed me."

"I can tell."

"So why didn't you say anything?"

"You think I'd _want_ to? I didn't want you to leave. And you would have."

"Not true. I've more sense and honor than that."

Miranda smiled, nodding. "Yeah, you do." Leaning forward, she brushed the slightly-longer hair askew on his forehead, seeing how a few strands would clump together and stand straight up. Smiling wider, she thought it was attractive around his unexpressive face, showing a younger side of him that she wouldn't have seen before. "How old are you, really?"

He sighed. "Almost forty-five. Why?"

"Oh. I was only wondering."

"Uh-huh. Your age?"

"Thirty-four."

He rubbed at his face, then stood, hearing the first cries of Phaedra demanding another feeding. He stood without another word and walked into the infant's room, telling her that he was coming, calming her that slight bit with the familiarity of his voice. Picking her up and walking to the kitchen, he heard Miranda follow him, then stop behind him, gripping his shirt in her hands and resting her forehead against his back while he heated the bottle. Once it was done, he turned slowly, holding Phaedra in one arm, the bottle in that hand, and with his free arm he encircled her shoulders, holding the woman to his side and leading her back to the room. In silence they sat together, John feeding the little one, burping her expertly after a month of doing so, and then let her drift off to sleep again. Once she was back in her crib, and John was back in the room, he looked at Miranda, and she watched him back, seeing how he didn't even seem to blink. Finally her voice came. "Are you all right?"

"Not really."

"What is it?"

"Phaedra . . . she needs a mother."

"Aidon needs a father."

He pulled her into a firm embrace, and felt her trembling with her tears. His voice was as soft as it would ever get as he spoke to her. "It's been almost three years since you lost your husband."

"Tomorrow's the anniversary of the day he died."

"I know."

"I don't want to be alone again."

"That, too, I know. And you're not. Not while I'm here, Miranda."

Her teary midnight gaze moved slowly up until they were watching each other again. He pulled her into another embrace, whispering, "Let's try to make this work. Just you and me and the kids. There has to be a way to raise 'em right, and . . . I don't know how else to put it. Both need a married mother and father. You know that. I know that." He sighed. "So let's try to make it work. We'll go in tomorrow for the papers."

She nodded against his shoulder, whispering, "Thank you."

The Spartan closed his eyes, replying in the same tone, "We'll make this work. I know we will. Somehow. There'll be a way."

"You never lose, John. Either there'll be a way, or you'll _make_ one."

He murmured something hardly appropriate, and Miranda blinked, rubbing at her eyes before looking back up at him. "Tell me that you didn't just say what I think you said."

"Oh, I did."

"You're starting to sound a _lot_ like Arbiter."

"Is that good?"

"That's fantastic."

She giggled, suddenly too tired to care, and felt as he lifted her to the head of her bed, asking softly, "Can I stay with you tonight?"

"How about every night? And how about all that 'staying with me' implies."

He responded the way she had hoped he would.

* * *

The phone ringing awoke John the next morning, and, growling, he reached out from under warm covers to pick it up, his voice raspy from sleep. "Hello?" 

"'S me."

"Willow, what time is it?"

"Five-a.m. I know, I know, you shouldn't be up at this time, but I figure that I should warn you that–"

"Today's the anniversary of Miranda's husband's death. I know. We do happen to talk once in a while."

A short pause. "That's almost sarcastic. You _never_ use sarcasm."

"I'm learning how to. It's coming in handy."

"Hah. So how are things going?"

"Phaedra's getting closer to a full night's sleeping routine. From what Miranda says, that's not entirely normal until the child is beyond their first eighteen months."

"Yeah. That's what I figured, too. Pandora and baby John are the same. They're months ahead of where they should be, mentally. It's almost like Kay and Sib, how quickly they're progressing."

"Odd."

"It's from _your_ side, I swear. That and their temper–"

"That's _yours_."

"So what were you two talking about?"

"Hardly any of your business, Willow."

"Marriage."

Growling softly, he sighed. "How'd'ja guess?"

"Instinct. And you're slipping back into speech that you used as a kid, aren't you."

"Oddly enough, yes." He stretched, the muscles between his shoulders rippling and bunching then releasing easily. "What did you want to know?"

"Are you two going to marry?"

"It's the easiest thing to do. And when we _do_ get married . . . she wants to adopt Phaedra."

"I was going to suggest that. Are you adopting Aidon?"

"Hold on, here. _You_ don't mind her adopting your daughter?"

"Did you mind it when Arbiter adopted Dor and John?"

"No."

"There's your answer."

Miranda rolled over with a sigh, leaning into John's warm side. "Who're you on the phone with?"

An evil snicker erupted into the Master Chief's ear, accompanied with, "Ah. That explains why you were quieter than usual. You were busy last night."

The woman in the bed beside John sighed, laughing, overhearing the voice and taking the phone from the man she was going to marry. "'Morning, Willow. You never told me what a fun guy John was in bed. I'm insulted that you wouldn't want to share some secrets."

His indignant splutter gave Willow and Miranda a good laugh, and he finally stood, snarling, "I'm taking a shower." He glared partially at Miranda. "And _don't_ join me. I'm capable of–"

Phaedra wailed.

"Of what, dear?" the ex-Vice-Admiral asked sweetly.

"Taking care of my daughter, that's what." He pulled jeans on, then walked to Phaedra's room.

Miranda smiled, leaning back in the bed. "We're going to marry. And–"

"Adopt Phaedra. Be the mother to her that I can't be. You'll raise her well," the solemn, smooth voice of the Sergeant-Major cut in. "Send the papers to me and I'll sign them. You need a daughter, and he needs a son. Don't worry about anything."

"Willow, you're too much."

"I know."

"Why are you insisting on this?"

"John insisted that Arbiter adopt our children. Said that it was best for the family. And I'm doing the same, because you need the best for _your_ family, too."

Miranda sighed. "Willow?"

"Yeah?"

"I wish that we had a choice about moving away."

"I know."

Silence, broken only by a soft, soothing murmuring. Miranda told Willow to be quiet for a moment longer, and, wrapping a robe around herself, she walked over to Phaedra's door, turning the volume up so the woman in old Washington DC could hear how the father of her children soothed the eldest. And when he looked through the door, he smiled, pulling Miranda into an embrace, feeling her hold the phone up to his ear, listening as Willow sniffled on the other end.

And his words were gentle. "I'll always love you, Willow. In a way that's safe for you and me and Miranda and . . . Torilian. Arbiter. Nothing is greater to me than your willingness to carry the triplets– and to let me raise one. She's wonderful. Beautiful. Like you. Strong." His breath caught in his throat once, but he suppressed it. "I'll _always_ take good care of her. I'll never let her down."

"Thank you," came the whispered reply. "Thank you. I needed to hear you speak to her."

"I know you did. Willow?"

"Yeah, John?"

"I can't wait to see the other two again. Whenever that may be." He drew in a massive breath, holding it as if he could hold the tears back. "Because I'll need to see how my children are doing every once in a while. I'll need to love them, to show them that I love them."

"You . . . sap!" she replied, laughing and crying all at once. "You completely soppy old man!" Her laugh was sad, now. "I'll remember that. Don't worry. We'll see each other soon."

"Yeah, Willow. Soon."


	4. Chapter 4

The Seraph's Broken Wings  
By: Sinead

Chapter Four

_**Author's Note:** I know, I know, I usually don't write fluff chapters, but there are a few things that I have to address for explanation and plot purposes. I promise that this will be the last fluffy chapter you'll read before I get back to real plot-making. As usual, I don't own Halo. sighs But why can't I at least own Arbiter? I don't ask for the Chief, but . . . only Arbiter, people, c'mon! He's the other cool one!_

* * *

The years ticked by, the children growing strong and sturdy. They passed their thirteenth birthday . . . then their sixteenth . . . but in their seventeenth year, everything fell apart.

Sibilee was the strongest of the four, having being able to wrestle with his father with ease. He had the bulkiest build of the four children, yet was still growing and filling out. Pandora was the fastest and most accurate with anything that she got her hands on to either shoot with . . . or throw. Many was a time that her parents had to reprimand her for throwing things at her siblings when friendly banter turned ugly. She also had the perfect memory of a Spartan. Yukae always remained slim and delicate-looking, but was deadly. Her feet never made a noise as she walked, she melted into shadows, and was a whirlwind with any bladed object. She was the best hacker they could get, and often did so for the fun of it.

John Orion inherited his father's luck. He was looked upon as a young leader, even though he was never the fastest, strongest, or even the smartest. But he had luck, and had a strong intuition that never proved itself wrong. His siblings and school friends soon learned not to gamble or bet with him. He shared his sister's gift of remembering everything and forgetting nothing.

That's why he knew upon entering their apartment from sparring with the IIIs that their parents had been taken by the Covenant. The signs were unmistakable.

"John, I found something."

The boy looked over his Elite sister's shoulder, his sparring-armor still on and smelling like something died in it. Yukae was kind enough not to mention this as he said, "Show me."

"This address, right here."

"John and Miranda Spaldin . . . Spaldin . . . Hey, Dor! The last name 'Spaldin' sound familiar to you?"

"Slightly. Heard Mom saying it upon the phone once, about two years ago," came the reply. She walked out of their parents' shower-room, rubbing at her short, red hair, her cheeks ruddy from the hot water. "She was laughing, saying something about 'John Spaldin, if you don't get back here soon, I'll be forced to kill this husband of mine before you get around to doing it!' and then saw me walking in the room and told him that she would call him back later. I guess that they're old friends, but I never heard or saw her or Dad talking to them other than that. There's also a few old pictures I just unearthed from under her bed. Ones that I've never seen before with people we don't know. I left them on top of the sidetable."

Sibilee growled a curse. "There's more, though. Something tells me that there's more."

Yukae nodded, already hacking into databases, pulling up a civilian picture with a small bio. He looked oddly familiar . . . and to have married the famous Miranda Keyes? Something didn't fit. Pandora pointed to a line halfway through the bio. "This is one of the people I don't recognize in the pictures. Look. 'Two children.' He adopted Miranda's son when he married. Hey, pull up that bio on her, Kay."

Once done, Yukae breezed through the career service vitae, coming to the point where she had married. However, there wasn't a picture of the woman. "'Adopted John Spaldin's daughter upon marriage.' You three feel weird about that, too? I really haven't seen any vids on her. You really only hear about her father, Captain Jacob Keyes. It's almost like the UNSC and ONI have erased her from the public's eye. I mean, almost nothing other than her discovery of the second ring is credited to her."

They heard two voices arguing over something, but upon entering the halfway-demolished apartment, the Elite voices halted. It was Leader, their father's old friend, and his nephew Boratamee. They ran over to where the four kids were. John Orion pointed to a picture of Miranda and this John Spaldin. "Who is he, and how did he marry Miranda Keyes. Why is he in pictures with Mom and Dad."

Leader blinked over the bio. "Do a search, Yukae."

"For what?"

"Spartan-IIs."

She did so without asking questions, and came up with pictures of different Spartans being awarded for successful missions, pictures caught of them in battle, everything.

Pandora picked one face out instantly, sharpshooter eyes unfailing. "Him."

They pulled up the CSV. Sibilee swore. "Master Chief Spartan 117, born John; no last name mentioned. Rings. He was the Demon."

Leader sighed. "Arbiter told me that if there ever was something to happen to him and Willow, I was to get you four to that man. Boratamee, tell ONI to flush the mission down someone else's alley. This is the bigger problem." He looked at the four. "Pack up. We leave immediately."

None of them noticed that lower on the page was a picture of the Arbiter, the Master Chief and Willow, each beaming and holding one of three small infants.

* * *

John "Spaldin" pulled that exact picture out to look at. He wondered what those two looked like now. They weren't allowed to send pictures to one another anymore. Sighing, he replaced it in the hidden drawer in his desk, standing and stretching his arms over his head after balancing a bank account. He hated the life of a civilian. It was boring. Well . . . when he wasn't mediating between two Elites or an Elite and a human about something completely moronic in the first place. If it wasn't _one_ thing, it was _another_. If it wasn't _one_ human family antagonizing their alien allies, it was _another_. It was more boring now than ever, but each new argument and accusation still grated sharply against his nerves.

Sniffing, Miranda blew her nose, sick and out from "work," which was doing the same exact thing he had been doing. He turned, smiling at her sadly. "You all right?"

"I feel like crap, John, like you have to ask."

He chuckled, moving swiftly to end up leaning over her, kissing her forehead. They had come to love each other, but John was careful after that time with Willow, and they hadn't had a child together. Two were more than enough to deal with. Especially since one was Spartan-bred and had some exceptional qualities. Phaedra was lithe and strong, able to handle any hand-to-hand technique her father gave to her, but her real strong-point was her mind and her reflexes. Some of the augmentation had affected his DNA, it appeared. He was curious as to how the other two of the triplets had fared.

"I'll go get you something to drink."

"Thank you."

He busied himself in the kitchen, hearing the doorbell ring. Phaedra was closer, and she stood to get the door, her waist-long red hair falling free.

* * *

They were dropped off at the moderately-sized two-story house with a message from Leader, who couldn't leave his responsibilities at the military college. John Orion looked at Pandora, Yukae, and Sibilee. "Well, we're not going to get anywhere from just standing here."

Snorting at her brother, Pandora walked up and rang the doorbell.

The door opened. She faced a mirror image of herself. The girl blinked in shock. "Da-ad!"

Rushing over, ready to kill, the Master Chief skidded to a halt, seeing . . . "My _God_. Pandora, John, Yukae and Sibilee."

"_Always_ last," Sibilee griped. "How do you know us?"

Miranda had rushed out from their room upon hearing her husband's shocked voice. And she smiled, saying, "Let them in, let them settle down."

The elder John looked at his wife, concerned. "Don't push yourself. Go back and lie down."

"With all this excitement out here? Hah. I wouldn't miss this for a chance to command the _Amber Clad_ again!" She grinned. "The couch is cosier, anyway."

Phaedra and Pandora just continued to stare at each other, taking in the fact that they were each one half of an identical twin set. John Orion looked at the man whom he shared a name with. The two Elites were talking with Aidon, who was visiting from college. He had remembered the day the triplets had been born, but had been asked not to say anything about it when he was old enough to promise.

After a long while more, Pandora shifted her gaze to the Master Chief. "You're our biological father."

John looked at her. Rather, _both_ Johns looked at her. The elder nodded slowly.

"Why did you separate us?"

The Spartan sat back just that bit more. "I would never have separated you three for the world. but it all had to do with circumstances."

"Can you tell us?" the boy asked.

Sighing, the answer came. "Arbiter and Willow had talked long and hard about it before _I_ even was told. You know that he was MIA for over two years?" After getting their nod, he continued. "I cared for Willow during that time, not trying to take his place, but trying instead to just be there for her. I know how much they loved each other, and she was ready to take off and go after him. But the UNSC needed her here, on Earth. So I volunteered to help her stay here, to help her keep moving from one day to the next." He looked desolately from one face to the next. "Sometimes, I was the only thing that kept her from killing herself, to keep her grief from consuming her. On the two-year mark, however, she broke down worse than before, and _would_ have killed herself."

"Apparently, _you_ stopped her with a convincing reason," Sibilee said, an Elite smirk in place upon his double-jaw.

"Just you wait until I get my hands on your father, boy. He has more sense than to let you get away with comments like that," John shot back, getting a barked laugh in return.

"Be that as it may, who said that Father ever _caught_ Sibilee?" Yukae replied.

Their two human siblings groaned in unison at remembering different events that had happened in their past. John Orion smiled kindly. "Will you be telling the rest of what happened?"

"Arbiter came back with the twins, and surprisingly didn't kill me," the Spartan replied, shrugging. "I helped him re-adjust to life where you four probably still live, and he conscripted my help with watching you two, Sibilee and Yukae, as well as general helping with Willow while she was as bloated as a–"

"John, be nice!" Miranda yelled from her place on the couch.

"She'd be the first to admit to being bloated, Randi, and you know it."

"Doesn't mean that you have to call her that."

He grimaced, shaking his head. "Well, Willow had known how . . . well, how pleased I was that we would have children. After two years, she had just stopped holding up enough hope that your father would return. You three kept her with us those last six months before Arbiter returned." Sighing, he stood to pace slightly. "And now they're both missing."

"How do you know?"

"Why else would you four have come here?" he replied. "And with a note from Leader, who had been one of the people from the UNSC that I was able to meet with relatively freely."

Standing as well, Aidon leaned over his mother to kiss her cheek. "There are things going on that I'm not a part of, aren't there? Things that started a long while ago."

John looked at his adopted son mournfully, whose smile never failed. The Spartan sighed again. "Aidon . . ."

"No, Dad, really, don't worry about it. I have to get back to college and finish a paper." He grinned. "Besides. Now I don't feel as if I'm missing out on something. Just knowing that I have _more_ siblings is great. And that two of them are Elite are even better." He stopped. "Wait. Who's this 'Leader' you just spoke of?"

The Spartan's face finally lifted into a smile. "Your Alien Relations professor."

"_Him!_"

"I've known him for years. Why else do you think you got into that college? Not by your grades."

Aidon flushed crimson, rubbing at his neck in embarrassment. "I'm pulling math up, I promise, Dad."

"Better be. Go on, get."

"See you." He smiled at his adopted sister's biological and Elite siblings, then left.

Miranda looked over at her husband. "So. You have that look on your face again."

John sat again, not lying. "I know."

"You wish you were younger."

"So do you, but I'm not saying anything about it." He looked at the kids, ideas forming in his head, but he discarded them. They were human, Elite, nothing more. Not Spartan.

That's not true, his mind argued. They're _born_ Spartan.

He rubbed at his face, coming to a conclusion. "Miranda, call Aidon, tell him that we're going back to Washington. I have a lengthy argument to bring up with ONI, and they _will_ hear me out."

"Your old dress uniform is in the downstairs closet," she replied, smiling, looking at the kids, then back at her husband before going back up to their bedroom. "I'm going to stay here and rest up before I'm well enough to follow."

He nodded, disappearing down the stairs to the basement. Pandora looked at her identical twin again, who smiled and said, "So we're twins."

"And I thought that one of you was bad enough," Sibilee growled.

Pandora threw a coaster at his head, hearing John and Yukae's laughter. A deeper chuckle came up from the basement, and she felt her face reflect the wistfulness her soul felt. Her bright blue eyes connected with her . . . her twin's, and she asked, "Phaedra, what's he like?"

"Kind, fair, loving . . . He's a good dad. He always cares, and he's always been there for me." She shook her head. "But I never knew that he was _the_ Master Chief. I mean, I've heard people calling him 'Chief' from time to time, and I knew he was in the military, so I assumed that it was just something that he picked up from the battlefield." Her face lit up again. "What's . . ." It fell again, and she sniffed.

John Orion embraced his sister, smiling. "Mom is amazing. She's _exactly_ like your dad. Our dad. Whatever." He blinked. "Oh, but she's obviously more feminine."

That got a small laugh out of Phaedra, and she looked at him. "What does she . . . what does she look like? I never paid any attention to anything military. I'm sorry. I didn't know I was adopted until today."

"Ah, don't worry about it. You never had reason to." Pandora pulled out a small picture of Willow out. It was from when they were celebrating their seventeenth birthday, and had gotten a picture of their family over the rather large cake. "That's her. We got her hair. That one there is our adopted father. Some call him Dragon, but he's more widely known as either Arbiter or Torilian Vouzaku'amee."

Aidon burst into the room, reaching for his forgotten backpack, stopping at the mention of that name. His face lit up. "You know the Arbiter?"

Sibilee and Yukae glanced at each other before chorusing, "He's our father."

Aidon swore colorfully, if softly. He grinned. "I met him once or twice, I think, but . . ." He blinked at Pandora, who as digging through photos again. Taking and collecting pictures was one of her hobbies. After finding the hidden stash in their parent's bedroom, she had added them in. Aidon blinked, leaning closer. "What are you doing?"

Finding the right one, she smiled and pulled it out, handing it to him. "Here, keep this one. I have another at home. You met Arbiter many times as a kid."

Aidon stared at the picture. That was him, all right. He had seen many pictures of himself as a child, as well as many of the Arbiter, having done a lengthy report upon the Sangheili for Alien Relations. But never would he have guessed that there would ever be a picture with both himself and the Arbiter together. And him perched high up on the alien's shoulders, no doubt, reaching down to a younger version of his mother and a red-haired, rather pregnant woman beside her. The women were on the right side of the photo, Arbiter and Aidon on the left. In the background were Johnson and Leader, both arguing about something, by their postures, but between them and the women was the man he called his father, warily watching whoever was taking the picture.

John the elder looked over Aidon's shoulder. "I remember that one being taken." His face fell again. "I wish that I could have shown it to you before, but . . ." He sighed deeply. "Orders were orders. I wasn't supposed to associate at all with the UNSC or anyone in it. I wasn't supposed to tell you anything, and I had to obey that. I hope that you'll get to meet Arbiter again."

"He will," the boy triplet said, his face solemn. "I'm not letting the Covenant keep him and Mom. We're getting them _back_, and I'll do anything to get that done."

The Spartan looked at his son. He'd seen pictures of himself when he was seventeen. He looked like this. He took on anything that came at him, and won. He'd never lose, never back down, and most _certainly_ never would give up. Nodding, the man replied, "That's what's going to get them home." He aimed his now-steely eyes at Aidon, and Miranda's son saw the Master Chief for the first time. "Your mother's staying here until she's over the cold. I'm going in to DC with these five."

"Phaedra's going, too?" Aidon asked, worried. "She . . ."

"She's my daughter. She wants to meet her birth mother." He cast his eyes to one side, seeing how Aidon was starting to become distressed. There was nothing he could do, however, about the scowl he wore. "And she doesn't know this, but she's been training. Not all soldiers are muscle-bound." His eyes met Aidon's again. "Keep an eye on your mother. When she feels well enough, she might want to wrap her fingers around some throats in ONI. Don't get in her way when she gets to that point."

"Gotcha, old man," Aidon replied. He looked at Phaedra. "Fay-fay, you keep safe, you hear me?"

Smiling at his old nick-name for her, Phaedra nodded, but John the younger replied for her. "She has two other siblings and two Elites to watch her back. We're not going to let her down."

Aidon nodded, leaving them. The Master Chief looked at the five fresh faces, his parade uniform in a bag at his side, pictures of before his "civilian" life with him. He planned upon letting the triplets look at them on the way to the old DC. And nodded. "Let's get back there, see if they've come to the same conclusion that we have."

The kids were ready, and went instantly out the front door. Miranda came back out to John, leaning into his embrace, her face against muscles that never seemed to lose their tone with age. Sighing through his shirt, she whispered, "Keep them safe."

"They're my children. I won't let anything harm them."

Her eyes locked upon his. "And don't _you_ get into trouble, either."

"I'll try. There's not much I can do against a direct order. I'm still in service."

"Keep safe, please. Come back home."

Closing his eyes, nodding, John softly, if ardently, kissed his wife once, then turned before he could look at her face again. He wouldn't leave if he did.


	5. Chapter 5

The Seraph's Broken Wings  
By: Sinead

Chapter Five

Willow groaned, coming to. Her husband was holding her against his chest. She blinked at their state of dress. Or lack thereof. It really didn't matter about what they wore or didn't wear around each other anymore. It never really did. The cell was almost familiar, the smell the same as she last cell she had been in. "Love . . ."

"We're back, but not the same cell. And not in High Charity." He snarled something inarticulately.

She turned into him for warmth as well as comfort. "At least we're together."

"Claim is Claim. They dare not interfere. But I know that they will. Forgive me, in advance."

"I always have, and I know that you don't have a choice in it." She paused. "I hope our children are all right."

"Leader would have gotten them to the places and people that they would need to go to and meet."

Willow pondered that for a moment, then asked, "What is that supposed to mean, Dragon?" She always refused to call him by his birth-name, even though the High Council of Elites had insisted that they had been at fault, begging his forgiveness, and had all but given him everything that he asked for. And that included his birth-name and everything that had been his before he had been given the Mark. Including letters from his family stating that they still accepted him, no matter what the Hierarchs said. That they would always support him. He had never known of those letters, and had gotten back in touch with his parents, brothers, and sisters as soon as he was able.

"That, Demoness, means that I disobeyed a direct order from UNSC. As I am in higher standing with them and Leader is now below me, he argued that I should order him to bring the children to a certain old friend of ours if anything happened to us. I gave in. ONI can either step over or walk through that pile of excrement they thought they had shoved to one side, and deal with your Spartan-bred children." He snickered slightly. "And they'll have to deal with their biological father."

The mother sighed. "I see a large problem about to erupt violently. And nobody's going to like the outcome."

"What are you saying?" His voice had grown worried.

"If ONI disregards the children, they'd be better off. If they take interest, and especially if Section Three takes interest . . ."

"Lords of Light, Gods of the Rings . . . no . . ." He hid his face. "What have I done?"

"Set off a time bomb," Willow replied, not letting the Elite go. "And our children, those wonderful twins and triplets, they'll be the explosion." She kissed the side of his face. "And it won't be pretty for ONI and the UNSC when they find out that my triplets are every inch as stubborn as their father."

"And as wily and intelligent as their mother."

The cell door opened.

* * *

"You have your orders, Master Chief. Dismissed."

"With all due respect, Ma'am, I will _not_ allow this to happen."

"And with all due respect, Spartan One-One-Seven, you have no say in this situation. The decision is final. _Dismissed_."

Simmering, the man turned on his heel and left the chamber, seeing the triplets and the Elite twins, a mix of other Elites and the Spartan-IIIs behind them. As soon as the Chief had returned to the complex, they had taken to calling his son "Junior," or plainly "Orion," so as not to confuse them. However, the latter nickname seemed to be sticking rather well, and the teenager seemed to like being called as such.

But when John called his son by his first name, a certain spark of light shone from his eyes, filled with pride that they shared a name, that they were related, and most of all, that his father treated him as an equal.

"I have to talk with you five in private."

Phaedra saw the anger below the surface, threatening to roar forth. She looked at her siblings, and they followed with her in the lead, directly behind her father. John Orion and Pandora were behind her, matching their pace to hers, and Yukae and Sibilee were behind those two. They were brought into a room which, judging by the hissing pop the door made as soon as it closed, was soundproofed. John looked at his children. "They're drafting you."

"What?" Pandora hissed. "How? Into what section?"

"Into the Spartans."

All five went silent. Yukae asked, "Does that include us?"

"No. Just the triplets. Leader will be training you two to become as formidable as both he and your father are." He struggled to keep his face impassive, but saw that Phaedra was watching him with a certain look that meant she could see he wasn't really "all right."

"Dad, tell us what else is wrong. Tell us as much as you can," she insisted, taking his hand in hers, feeling it dwarf her own hand when he closed his fingers around hers gently.

"You've all been training your entire lives. They were waiting until you were nearly completely grown before . . ." and here he swallowed. "Before they put your through augmentation."

Pandora and John Orion seemed to become statues, their faces shocked. Pandora was the first to speak. "But wouldn't Mom and Arbiter know about this? Don't _they_ have any say in it?"

"They would. _If_ they were here. ONI Section Three are manipulative–"

He said a few choice words, seeing his son blink, then grin. "Well. So _that's_ where I got my inclination for learning as many cusses as I could."

Yukae chuckled, Sibilee grinning. They looked at the Master Chief, and Sibilee spoke. "So we are to be under Leader's 'gentle' tutelage."

John nodded. "And to complete two teams of three, he said that Boratamee will be training with you."

"One Spartan, one Elite team?" John Orion asked.

"Possibly. Or mixed." He rubbed his hand through still-thick hair. "I don't want any of you to be under Section Three. There aren't many more people of integrity left in there."

"How do you mean?" Pandora asked.

"You have heard of Dr. Catherine Halsey? She was one of the original founders for the Spartan-II project." He shook his head. "She passed away many years ago. Her niece is now the head of the next project. The girl has some honor, but not her aunt's acute sense of being manipulated."

"Will there be any others in this program?" John Orion asked.

And the Master Chief nodded, a small smile coming back onto his face as he gathered Phaedra into his arms, embracing her, looking at his other daughter and son. They came over to him as well, needing that embrace that only a father can give to his children.

* * *

Pandora lay in the hospital bed, her sister in the bed closer to the wall away from the door. "Phaedra?"

"I'm still awake."

Pandora swallowed. "I'm scared."

"So am I."

Silence for a moment, before the identical girls looked at each other. Both had been shaven, both had lines drawn upon them for the incision marks. The only difference between them was that Pandora had a neural interface and a tattoo on her left arm. Phaedra was going to be getting her interface with this long surgery, so that wouldn't be much of a distinguishing factor anymore.

The three siblings Pandora grew up with all had the same tattoo, all on the same place upon their arms. It was that of an eagle with lightning in one talon, arrows in the other, the Spartan's symbol, with an energy sword standing vertically behind it. The Mark of Shame was below the handle of the sword, reminding all who would see the tattoo that there was indeed a fate worse than death.

"Dor . . . I've seen the risks of these procedures."

"So have I. Yukae hacked into the system and showed me and our brother."

"Did Sibilee see?"

"No. He would have had to be sedated until we were back upon our feet again. He'd never stand for . . . for all the pain that we'll have to go through."

Phaedra sighed, looking at hands that were carefully marked, leading to arms that had long lines upon them for the ceramic reinforcements, and silence prevailed once more. The nurses came in, hooking up IVs, each looking none-too-happy. Pandora asked why.

The elder of the two replied. "Because it's a shame that kids like you have to follow in the footsteps of those who should know better by now. You shouldn't have to hold the world on your shoulders."

Pandora smiled up at the nurse. "We're not going to. Not right away, at least. The 'Threes are still in duty. We'll be learning from them."

The nurse smiled, reaching over to rest a hand upon the seventeen-year-old's shoulder. "You're a brave kid for even accepting what will be happening to you."

Phaedra and Pandora smiled at each other, before replying simultaneously, "Because we're our father's daughters, that's why!"

The older nurse chuckled, pushing the younger one out and closing the door, turning to face them. "Six of the other surgeries have already gone through. I know you're the Master Chief's daughters. Your brother was one of the first two."

"How is he?" Phaedra asked, Pandora not wanting to speak, lest the slight shaking she felt her hands doing reached her voice.

"Sleeping. Your father's with him right now."

"Any . . . did anyone . . ."

"One. So far." She sighed. "The injections for boosting muscle growth reacted badly with him, causing cardiac arrest. They revived him three times, but couldn't get him back on the fourth."

"Who was he," Phaedra demanded.

"Randall."

Phaedra sighed, feeling the sedative start to kick in. She lay back, not fighting the sudden lethargy, watching her sister close her eyes a moment before she did. All that Pandora could wish for was that this would bring them one step closer to rescuing their mother and their Elite father. That was the last thing that passed through her mind when the world tuned into a warm, black haven.

* * *

"Torilian Vouzaku'amee, what are you."

The Elite struggled to raise his head, but couldn't. They couldn't touch his Claimed, so they took it out on him, trying to break his mind. That is, while the Prophet was watching. When he wasn't, and when he wouldn't be, _then_ Willow would be part of the torture. He hoped that the Prophet would remain interested in watching his torture just that bit longer . . .

His voice was low, panting in his complete exhaustion. "I am . . . an honored member . . . of the Brotherhood of Elites . . ."

Another sharp punch in the gut. He coughed blood. Again, the question. "Torilian Vouzaku'amee, what are you."

"The Arbiter."

Brute hands gripped his left ankle, digging strong fingers into his flesh, ready at a moment's notice to break the bones. "Torilian Vouzaku'amee, what are you."

He roared at the Brute before him, "_I am the Arbiter of the Brotherhood!_"

The hands jerked . . .

The bone held in place, but bruising already started to cause the join to swell.

Again, the Brute tried to break the Arbiter's ankle, but . . . again it failed. A blood vessel burst, but blood immediately started to reroute itself up stable vessels, allowing that one to collapse and being healing itself. He felt the distinct shifting of pressure. And Arbiter then spoke. "Who are you."

"Perdition, son of Tartarus. And you'll pay for killing my father." He turned to the other Brutes. "Take him back!"

The next thing Dragon knew, his head was upon his wife's lap. Her hands were resting upon the sides of his face and her tears were falling onto him. He sat up and embraced her, whispering, "He couldn't break my ankle."

"Glad that you listened to me for once about that procedure, are you?"

"Yes. Yes I am. Are you?"

"More than definitely. I don't have to hear you whine about as much pain as you normally would have been in."

They rested in companionable silence.


	6. Chapter 6

The Seraph's Broken Wings  
By: Sinead

Chapter Six

Fingertips were resting upon Pandora's hand, knowingly not touching those places that were still sore. An Elite voice spoke. "Pandora, child, awaken."

"Leader . . ."

"It is me. I have good news."

"Tell me."

"Phaedra is alive. She is awake, recovering faster than you are. John Orion is alive. He is sitting up and eating solid foods."

"What else did you want to tell me?" she asked, her voice weak.

"Yukae, Sibilee, and Boratamee have undergone a type of augmentation that Torilian had also been through, albeit a more organic one than these human methods."

"How are they?"

"Good. They want to see you and your siblings."

"Soon, then. Soon." She opened her eyes in the dimmed room, seeing the usually-white-armored Elite in the casual white robes and helmet-like headdress that he wore when off-duty. He gently touched her upper left arm. "They didn't cut through the tattoo."

"Good."

"Yes, very good." He gently traced her jaw, whispering, "Your father is close to rioting. They did more than they had said they would."

"What do you mean?"

Phaedra's voice answered. "All that had been done to Dad was done to us; bone augmentation, muscle enhancements, that growth cataclysm, the . . . the occipital capillary reversal, changing the way our nerves work . . . All that had been done." She sighed, and the sound was starting to become unusually loud to Pandora. "Added to that, they changed our ears a little. They had seen our specialties, and had adjusted our bodies just that bit more to become _more_ of what we were supposed to be."

Pandora blinked at her sister, who said, "They lengthened your legs already. That's how they'll tell us apart."

"What about you?"

"Minimal changes, but there nonetheless. They changed my hands and wrists." She looked at Leader. "I hear Dad's muttering."

"Ah. I'll leave then." He chuckled, and bowed ceremoniously to the twins before leaving them.

Phaedra looked at her father when he walked in, his face showing his concern. Before he could speak, however, Phaedra pointed to Pandora's left arm. "Can I get that tattoo?"

John blinked at Pandora, who clumsily moved her arm out to show her father the mark proudly. He smiled, kissed Pandora's forehead, then did the same to Phaedra. "Of course." Gently, he touched each cheek, sitting in a chair that was in a narrow space between the two beds with a hand upon either daughter's shoulders, guarding them as they fall back asleep.

* * *

John Orion stumbled into a wall, cursing his clumsiness since the augmentation. Pandora was taking the adjustments better than he was, but never flaunted that in his face as she would have when they were younger. Instead, she stopped and helped him stand straight, holding his elbow gently until he could stand upon his own again. They entered the room with the others who had survived the augmentation, eyes smarting from the lights, ears throbbing from being too fine-tuned. Phaedra met them there, the Elites behind her.

It was the first time that the twins saw their human siblings in almost a month, and Yukae couldn't believe the visible changes. Pandora was tall and lithe, looking almost stretched-out and a mite too thin. John was more bulky, his limbs not moving as he wanted them to. Pandora looked at Yukae, seeing that her Elite sister was slightly darker in shade than she had remembered, and looked almost as if she had been boiled down, removing all the baby fat and dross from her body. Sibilee, however, was broader in frame, taller as well, nearly at his full height. Muscles bulged where they had once been mere hints of the musculature he was to have, and as John Orion lost balance again, Sibilee reached over and supported his brother. Boratamee walked up to them as well, his face looking haggard. It looked like he had the worst time recovering from his augmentation.

"Welcome, all of you. And we wish to thank you for finding your way here."

Everyone focused upon the figure behind the podium. She looked from one face to the next. "I am Dr. Halsey."

"Not the _original_ one," someone grumbled.

Her glance was amused. "True enough. I am her niece, Estelle, and I'm in charge of this group of Spartans, the Spartan-Fours, along with Chief Petty Officer Stirling. The Spartan-Threes are all deployed against the remaining Covenant forces, and _you_ are to be the clean-up crew until you prove yourselves to be everything that the Spartan-Threes are and _more_. Now all of you are dismissed, but remember that you are to all required to be at the mess-hall at thirteen-hundred for lunch, and again at nineteen-hundred for dinner. Breakfast is at eight-hundred. Rest up, Spartans."

Pandora and Phaedra looked at each other, then caught the glance of one of the male recruits. He indicated that they all meet up, somehow, and _immediately_.

* * *

"All right, you called the meeting," an anonymous voice called out. "Now what's this about?"

"I'm hungry, and my eyes keep crossing, my ears hurt and my ass is leaking something horrible again, so can you make this short?" another voice asked, tired, weary chuckles bubbling up from all corners of the room. There were only twenty-seven left in the combat-ready force, including the triplets. The other survivors would join their Spartan-II and Spartan-III brothers and sisters at either the UNSC HQ, or ONI.

These were the real trainees, brought up since the age of seven to be Spartans. The Elites were their Brotherhood counterparts, females accepted easily into the ranks. The triplets stood out a little, and the leader of the Spartan-IVs were watching them. "Those three and their Elites. Who are you?"

They all stood. The brother spoke first. "John Orion Vouzaku'amee."

"Pandora Rhiann Vouzaku'amee."

"Phaedra Taylor Spaldin."

"Sibilee Vouzaku'amee."

"Yukae Vouzaku'amee."

"Boratamee Shanath'gree."

The leader blinked at them. "You two humans have Elite last names. Why?"

"Our mother married an Elite, Squad Leader," Pandora replied. "He adopted us at birth."

"But with the last name Vouzaku'amee . . . that's . . ." His face lit up with recognition, understanding, and he nodded. "Then I formally welcome you in, triplets. My name's Westin." And here he grinned. "Spartans don't have last names. Westin-483"

"Only the ones born to Spartans do!" a female voice crowed. She walked forward, her face sad. "And he's not Squad Leader. Randall-467 was."

Phaedra looked from one face to the next. They were all still bald, all still looking woozy. "So who's leading?"

"Westin is, for now. Until we're told who. Were you given numbers?"

"No, not yet," John Orion replied. He saw their faces jerk into impassive masks as they saluted to the person who just opened the door behind them. He turned and saluted as well, smiling. "Sir, welcome in."

"At ease. Phae, Dora, John, you three have everything you need in your new quarters. Just made sure of that." He looked around the room, seeing the fresh faces. "I told you, 'at ease.' I'm a fellow Spartan, not one of the Brass."

Exhausted titters were heard from the corners of the room, and the Master Chief cracked a smile. "Better. I heard about your Squad Leader, and apparently Four-Eight-Three was second-in-command in your unit. Continue leading them, recruit, unless you wish to stay as a second. Come to me with candidates if you feel it necessary."

"Sir!"

John looked at his son. "John, you keep an eye out for leaders as well. I know you have an eye for recognizing traits, and being a late recruit has the advantage of not dealing with old dynamics. You'll see traits that the others might have taken for granted. The Elites have already chosen to have Yukae lead them."

The triplets glared at Yukae, who laughed in pure Elite fashion, her voice echoing richly. "I thought that you would appreciate being told by your father, rather than having to endure me bragging."

An astounded silence followed that, within which Sibilee asked, "I take it that you only knew that these three had been sired by _a_ Spartan, not _the_ Spartan?"

"You keep that up, Sib, and I'll not wait for your father to come back before I kill you," the Master Chief snarled.

"Ah, sir, I would only be honored to die by your hands!"

"Don't worry. You just might."

Phaedra sighed. "Da, Sibilee, you two are starting to embarrass me."

"_You_?" Pandora asked. "I _lived_ seventeen years with Sibilee! He was _always_ like this!" She aimed a glare to her elder Elite sibling. "And I'll kill him before Dad can."

"How would you know?" Westin asked.

"I'm faster. That simple."

John smiled at his second daughter. "Right enough."

He looked at the rest, hearing the door whoosh open behind him. The Spartan-IVs saluted at the same time, and he turned to see the CPO Stirling, his face contorted into a glare at the sight of the Spartan-II. "What are you doing here?"

A cleared throat came from behind the CPO, and he turned, seeing Miranda Keyes Spaldin watching him, her face a glare blacker than his own. "He is _your_ superior, the _Master_ Chief Petty Officer Spartan-117, _Chief_ Stirling."

"Mrs. Spaldin–"

"Stow it. You're wanted in debriefing."

"For what, might I ask?"

John-117 glared down his nose at the younger officer. "How would she know? Get. Moving."

Once the man was gone, almost all the Spartans blinked in clear astonishment at the small woman marching up to Phaedra, looking her straight in the face. "You're already taller."

"I know."

"You think you'll be ready?"

"Most likely."

"And your siblings?"

"Definitely."

"Atta girl. You give 'em hell, darlin'."

"Always do, Mum."

Miranda grinned, then nodded to the Spartan-IVs before landing her spouse with a glare that wouldn't leave him with much option to refuse. He nodded once. "Westin, CPO Stirling won't be your training officer. _I_ will be. Report tomorrow right after breakfast."

"Sir!"

Once the adults had left, Westin looked at the triplets in clear relief. "Is he always like that?"

Phaedra grinned. "Nah. Usually he's worse."

Westin's face paled.

* * *

"You have been _shirking_ in your duties to _your_ Spartans!"

Westin tried not to flinch under the strong voice of the Spartan-II. "Yes, sir."

"Furthermore, you have not been taking your command seriously!" John glared at the seventeen-year-old. "Why."

"I am not fit to lead, sir."

"I can't hear you."

"I am not fit to lead! Sir!"

"Then tell me who _is_!" John roared back, knowing full well that this boy's ears were sensitive, and that they would throb for a day or so. To lessen that effect, however, he had chosen a large room to chew the youngster out in. Their first assignment, and it was almost a complete failure. _Almost_. It wasn't even that hard of a mission, and it had ended up being saved by another Spartan who had the quick thinking he needed these 'Fours to be lead by.

"Phaedra, sir. She took over when I was knocked out."

He stormed over to the door, slamming it open and startling the man into cursing on the other side. "Lieutenant, have Spartan-497 report to me." He slammed it shut before the Lieutenant could reply, and stood in a brooding silence, watching Westin with unblinking eyes. Phaedra entered, saluting. At this point, and during training hours, she knew that this man was her superior officer first, and her father second. He nodded, and her arm fell to her side. John indicated Westin. "He told me you saved the mission, 497."

"Yes sir, I did."

"Explain."

"He was knocked unconscious by a stray bolt of plasma while fighting the rebel Grunt forces. I re-maneuvered the forces into a more defensive position, sir, and from there split off some from each end to circle around and flank the enemy, sending some into trees on either side to snipe at their commanders, and the fastest to pincer them in towards the main force."

"You had two wounded Spartans and one wounded Elite at the end of this assignment."

"Yes, sir. Weston-403 with a minor head wound; Doreen-465 had two fingers burned off by a near-miss with a plasma grenade; Forandamee has three plasma burns along her left arm that occurred when Weston-403 went down, unable to cover her side. I filled in, telling Fora to get herself back and to treat those burns before she went into shock."

John nodded. "And of Spartan-499?"

"He twisted his ankle upon drop, sir. He's still clumsy, even with his suit to support him. If you don't mind my saying, sir, he'll improve within the week, once we're back to sparring."

Moving to sit at the single seat, John steepled his fingers, elbows upon the desk, looking from one Spartan to the other. "403, you are hereby no longer Squad Leader. That falls now to 497. Spartan-497, you are promoted to Petty Officer Third Class. Dismissed."

The teenaged warriors saluted and turned upon their heels to leave. Once out of the office and back in their large bunk-room, they closed the door, and dually collapsed against it. Pandora laughed, walking over and crouching by her sister. "Exhausted you, did he?"

"I've never seen him that angry before."

Westin groaned. "I hope that I never have to see him like that again. My ears will be sore for _days_."

"Orion," Phaedra called. "How's your ankle?"

"Still hurts, sis. You should know that."

"Dad inquired about it. Back to sparring with you."

"Says you," he said from his bunk.

"Yeah, _she_ says," Westin snapped. "She's a Petty Officer Third-Class, and your new Squad Leader. Hop to it."

"Oh, _real_ funny, Wes."

* * *

"Your Claimer seems not to want to give in," the Brute said into Willow's face.

She gagged at the stench, retching all over the alien. Spitting, she said hoarsely, "Give in to lies? He's more honorable and noble than that."

Perdition snarled. "I wish our Prophets would allow me to break you. You'd be ever so pleasurable."

She didn't reply. Arbiter was coming to beside her left arm. Perdition ordered the others from the room, then rotated the "wall" they were chained against so that it was level. Grinning, he crawled over Willow, leering at Arbiter.

Willow sent her mind far away.

* * *

Torilian wept bitterly into his wife. She was crying as well, but her hands didn't stop stroking the Elite's head as he pushed it against her chest, his arms wrapping around her. Carefully, she laid back into the nest of blankets, her hips and back aching from the abuse. She was no longer as young and resilient as she had been. Her husband curled around her, still sobbing at his lack of being able to do anything while she had been raped.

Finally his sobs spaced out, and his breathing evened. Willow whispered, "Dragon?"

A shuddering breath answered her.

"Show me."

He sat up slightly, and she rested her hand upon the Mark of Shame. He brushed silvering hair away from her face. "What do I show you?"

"True love. _Our_ love."

"You hurt. I cannot."

"I'll hurt more if you don't. I need you."

Sighing he gathered Willow back into his arms, lowering his mouth to her left shoulder, reopening the bite-scars for the first time since they had been made. She didn't dig her fingers into his arms as she had before, and then he moved his head to her other shoulder, whispering, "From beginning to end . . . I Claim you again." He bit, feeling her kissing whatever part she could reach. When he pulled away, he dressed the wounds, laying her back. "It has been twenty-five years, to the exact day, that I had first Claimed you. I love you."

Willow smiled, tears tracing glimmering paths down her cheeks. And her Dragon was over her again, one hand cradling her head while he did as she had asked him to do.


	7. Chapter 7

The Seraph's Broken Wings  
By: Sinead

Chapter Seven

John-117 looked over the way the teams were broken up, seeing the Sangheili influence. Looking at the Spartan-IVs, he barked, "Into teams!"

They moved in a co-ordinated, expressionless way, settling into teams of three humans and three Elites each, all saluting. "Black Team, sound off!"

"Black-One, Phaedra-497."

"Black-Two, Yukae."

"Black-Three, Pandora-498."

"Black-Four, Sibilee."

"Black-Five, Orion-499."

"Black-Six, Boratamee."

John nodded, and those six snapped their arms to their sides. He looked at the group for a moment longer. If he was judging this correctly, they were mixing this up so that the Prophets would mis-judge who was to be who. Calling the commanding team Black instead of Gold was a good idea. They'd be able to sneak from point to point with minimal visual detection. Next was the second-in-command team: Blue, followed by Gold, then Red, White, and Green. After that came Violet, Silver, and finally a team that would fill in where needed, generally for under-the-table missions, which was simply called Liquid.

Over the next two months, Liquid Team proved to be the silent ones, the ones that the Covenant learned to fear. They were the real Demons that would kill and not regret, moving from one target to another with fluid ease. They were the assassins.

But they took second place to Black Team.

The Marines and the Navy Corps called the faceless Black Team "death," "Black Plague," and other such names. They didn't know that Black Team were the youngsters that jostled and joked with them in line at mess hall, who pranked them and laughed with them. They were the ones that challenged and trained them in the gym, and then helped them up when they were too sore to move after some rough and rowdy sessions.

It was then that John knew they were ready for a mission that had been long overdue in deploying. After nearly a year, it was time to bring Willow and the Arbiter home.

* * *

After pretending to be broken, Willow was left alone. Arbiter did the same, and soon whenever a Brute looked at them, they shivered, shifting slightly. Finally, the Brutes stopped toying with them, leaving them alone for over four consecutive months, remembering only to feed them and change their bathing water. That was how the time passed until the fateful day when Perdition came back from a long campaign. He looked in upon them. "You have fooled my Brutes, but you will not fool me. No, I think you'll be broken for _good_ this time."

Willow swallowed, her hand gripping Arbiter's.

Then the point of an energy knife protruded from the Brute's throat, while the double-points of an energy sword emerged from the ape's stomach, twisting and ripping to one side, severing the spinal column to the left, while the knife ripped to the right, ensuring the death by breaking Perdition's neck.

As the Brute fell, all the human and the Elite saw were shadows watching them.

* * *

"We're _finally_ out from being babysat."

"Sib, if you've been calling those last three assassination missions 'babysitting,' you're losing your marbles."

"Ah, leave it, Orion, you know he's being foolish again."

"Phae, don't tell me to leave it. I'm bored. We've been in this metal piece of junk for weeks. And I _hate_ the cryo tube. It smells like my old gym bag if I left it alone for three weeks. How _old_ is this thing, anyway?"

"Like _I_ would know? I'm just glad that we have . . . wait. What's the AI's name again?"

"Very funny," said Artificial Intelligence quipped. "Your father will remember it."

"Yeah, yeah, Cortana, don't short out on us," Orion replied, grinning and looking his black-colored helmet over again, wincing at a new scratch. "She was kidding."

Her lithe form appeared on the holo tank, and she smiled, "I'm telling you, though, just over twenty years of hibernation makes you feel young again."

"Ugh, here we go again," Boratamee groaned, clipping the final parts of his black armor on.

Cortana sniffed at him, disappearing from the cryo-room's holo tank with the fizzle of visual static. Phaedra chuckled, holding her helmet in one hand while she left to go up to the bridge with Yukae. Once there, they saw Leader powering down everything unnecessary before they returned to normal space. And before them they saw the new Covenant capital, Abundant Grace . They rode in dark, and Leader plugged in their secondary AI, yanking Cortana out and handing her in crystal form to Phaedra, who snapped her helmet on and sealed her suit before plugging the older AI into the back of the black helmet.

She and Yukae turned and left.

* * *

The smaller ship landed in the unused bay, and they filed out in silence, activating their active camo as they did so, leaving a nav-marker upon the ship so they would find their way back. Boratamee took point, whispering, "Black-Leader, contact ahead."

"How many?"

"Three Jackals, a Brute, seven Drones."

"Hn," Yukae grunted.

"Method, Black-Lead?"

Phaedra silently moved to one side of the hallway. "Do what you do best. Black-Three, snipe the ones he misses. Black-Six, when you throw those things, try to get two on the Brute."

"Ma'am."

With practiced stealth, four plasma grenades were lit, two by Boratamee, two by Orion. They threw them as quickly as they could, and the requested two grenades did indeed land upon the Brute, while Orion purposefully over-shot his aim on the second one, cutting off a retreat, and Boratamee threw one short, pinning them. Four quick explosions and the bark of two silenced sniper-shots resulted in the complete death of small squad.

Following Cortana's instructions, they moved on, killing everything in their path, reaching the first level of cells and searching each and every one carefully. Upon the third level, they found remains of humans in some cells, Elites in another. Each time, they scanned for DNA, taking and storing everything. Grunt bones littered the floors, and eight massive Hunter carcasses were picked clean by Jackals. Hearing a Brute voice saying something smugly, they moved up to the final level, creeping along. Just as the Brute was about to enter the cell, Pandora ignited an energy sword while Yukae drew her small dagger and imbedded it in the back of the Brute's neck, feeling it exit the other side of the reeking _thing's_ throat. Pandora shoved the sword through the thick torso, the points vertical, then twisted them horizontal and with all her strength ripped it free to her right, while Yukae's left hand drew the dagger savagely in that direction. The lifeless body tumbled, and all six looked in to see the human woman and the Elite male trying to visually pull their forms out of the shadows.

Phaedra disengaged her active camo and the rest of her team followed suit. The three humans removed their helmets and walked into the cell, wrapping blankets around their mother while the Elite twins helped their father, Boratamee keeping guard outside the cell door.

Willow touched her son's face, then rested her hands upon her daughters' cheeks, tears falling. She found a scar on one of their chins, an old one, one that she remembered tending to. "Pandora." Looking at the other face, she tugged it to her blanketed shoulder, whispering, "My baby Phaedra. You're back."

Careful not to hurt her, Phaedra held her mother, sighing before hearing a warning click of Boratamee's mandibles. Standing, snapping the helmet on again, she looked at the others, who were now helping the Elite and human back up. "Black team, move out."

It was almost over.

* * *

"Blast it!"

"Leader, we can't shake them!" Orion roared from his post.

"I know that!" he growled. "They'll follow us through Slipstream!"

Pandora made some quick calculations, then ran them by Yukae, who said, "Actually, we might be able to lose them."

"Oh?"

"They can't predict where we will end up. Several short jumps in and out, all done by AI, and we might lose them."

"Several?" He grunted, pulling a complicated evasive maneuver. "That'll put a strain on anyone without a suit."

Phaedra stood. "I'll get them into cryo tubes. Get ready." Moving swiftly, she walked into the small room that her mother and the Elite she had married were in, getting their wounds treated by Pandora and Sibilee. All four looked up, and Phaedra sighed. "We have to make about seven to eight short Slipstream jumps to shake them."

Willow looked at her daughter's face, so like her own, so like her identical twin's, and so like their father's, then nodded, seeing worry. "All right. Being frozen for that doesn't really sound all that bad."

She still held onto Arbiter's hand, however, and looked from one twin sister to the other. "You're both so alike, and so different."

"We have a lot to explain to you," Pandora whispered. "But is _has_ to wait. Getting you home safe is the first thing on our lists. And if we fail . . ."

She didn't need to finish her sentence to get her point of urgency across.

* * *

At the third jump, a human ship awaited them. They linked up quickly, everyone moving over quickly before the Covenant could find them again. Cortana was handed off to the Captain, who ran up to the bridge to plug her in. She would be controlling the smaller shuttle as a decoy, putting it back into Slipspace with a destination solution that would land it near a Covenant patrol-route.

The Spartans and Elites hurried the newly-rescued couple into the sickbay, where John and Miranda were having a whispered argument. Willow ran to John, interrupting him. Laughing, he picked her up in an embrace, kissing her cheeks, then embracing her again before setting her upon one of the beds, draping another blanket around her uniformed shoulders. And he turned to see the Arbiter Torilian, who reached over to grip his hand. But Arbiter didn't expect the Master Chief to use that hand to pull him into a fierce embrace between reunited brothers.

They were home.

* * *

Phaedra and Pandora were sparring with knives, moving quickly.

Neither noticed their mother walk in and watch as John Orion whirled in, taking Phaedra's place, nudging her over towards the door, his methods and knife-fighting different, slower, than his sisters'. Pandora slowed herself down considerably so she could help him back up to where he should be in sparring, knowing full well why he had taken Phaedra's place.

It was time for Willow and the daughter that John had raised to talk.

The Spartan-II walked into the room as well, his voice commanding, but kind. "Enough."

The two siblings stopped their dueling, looking at the older man. Orion blinked once, noting that it was only them. No Elites, no adoptive parents, nothing. And then Willow sat on a crate. "What do you need to know?"

Pandora blinked, looking from one face to the other. These were her parents. These were the people that had given her life.

Orion swallowed, knowing that it wasn't going to be pretty. The questions wouldn't be easy ones.

"Why didn't you raise all three of us up together?" Phaedra asked.

Willow sighed. "Baby, I would have. I wanted to. But things weren't what they were supposed to be."

"You and Dad had a relationship, though!"

"Phae," Pandora said softly, catching her attention. "Mom is _married_. She had married right before Arbiter was sent out on that doomed ONI mission."

"But–"

"Little one, they wanted us separated," John said in that hushed voice that Phaedra had learned meant that he hurt inside, using the words that he had called her as when she was an infant. "They didn't want us to be around each other. I _wanted_ to be around your siblings . . . my other daughter and son, but they didn't want that. They didn't want me to have any hand in even _helping_ to raise three wonderful triplets." He sighed, rubbing at his forehead. "They didn't want me to even raise _you_, but they had no say in it once Arbiter refused to sign the adoption paper."

"Why didn't you fight Mom, then? Told her that you wanted all three of us together, or not at all?"

Orion rested his hand upon Phaedra's shoulder. "You heard him when he told us the truth about what happened before we were born. He wanted a family. He wanted children. He got us."

"And Arbiter came back," Willow added softly, "with Yukae and Sibilee."

"So you couldn't handle all three of us, you're saying," Phaedra accused.

John saw how that had hurt Willow, but Pandora snorted, her voice harsh and angry. "_Never_ accuse Mom of not being able to handle things. You have no idea, still, do you?" She shook her head. "Mom wanted to give . . . to give Dad what he wanted. Think about what _we_ had gone through with the Spartan program! _He_ went through worse! Everything was taken from him. Everything. And then, imagine if you will, say you're in his shoes. And you find out that you're expecting a child. Better yet, _three_." The blue eyes narrowed. "And then someone says that you can't have them anymore. You've prepared yourself, you've set up funds and everything else possible that you might need with raising these three . . . and suddenly . . . no more. You can't have them. They're taken from you." She shook her head. "Frankly, I'm _shocked_ that he didn't kick up a stink about that."

"Your mother and Arbiter have a famed relationship," John said softly. "If I interfered with that, then . . . well . . ." A sigh escaped him. "Many Elites who heard of what had gone on between Willow and myself went to Leader, who they answer to in that region, and asked special permission to protect the Claim that Arbiter has on Willow. He denied them, saying that Arbiter will decide what will happen upon his return." The man leaned against the wall, gathering his thoughts. "And I was lucky that Arbiter didn't need me dead. _Very_ lucky."

"But that doesn't mean–"

"Phaedra," his voice came sharply, "enough." Dark blue eyes glared at her, but he was cut off from his reprimand by the mother.

"So she's angry. I can understand that, John, and don't you try to suppress it. She's got a healthy Irish temper that was passed down from _both_ of us." She chuckled at his face, knowing that it was true, before saying, "You don't know what Claim is, little darling. You don't know how it works." She pulled her sweater off to reveal scars on her shoulders, and tattoos on both arms. On her left arm, five small names were surrounded by a two pair of hands, one human, the other Sangheili. On her right was the tattoo that now all five children sported.

Pandora had seen the left shoulder . . . but the _right_ . . . "Mum, wasn't it only on your _left_ shoulder?"

"Your father told me that at the twenty-five anniversary, the vows are renewed." She smiled. "Here, Phaedra, let me explain these." She crossed her arms over her chest. "It's the Sangheili version of marriage, in a sense." Her hand brushed over her left shoulder. "I had been a POW for a mission, actually allowing myself to be taken while I gathered information for the UNSC. I was tortured, raped, you name it, and never seen again, so people thought that they never took prisoners for the longest time." She smiled, leaning slightly back, balancing easily. "Now, at the same time, some poor Elite scumbag was being deemed a heretic for his 'inability to safeguard Halo.' He was sent to my cell, to share space with me, a human, as part of his punishment. Tartarus was alive all those years ago, and he oversaw both my and his torture. At one point, he had the Sangheili rape me, which was to be utterly demeaning for him, and for me it was just another level of torture. And for said Elite, it would have been, had I not tried to fight him about it earlier on. Tartarus had to ensure that other torture routines were proceeding nicely, and this Elite told me that I would be passed along to be raped by other Elites. And I knew that I would, which was starting to settle me into a pre-depression, almost."

Neither Pandora nor John Orion had ever heard how their parents had met. Phaedra was listening, her face showing her shock.

"Once Tartarus had left, he pulled me back from wherever–"

"Huh?" Phaedra asked.

"Ah." Willow sighed. "I had married another man before I had gone into the military, then served beside him in the Navy Corps. His name was Akira Takayuurei. He had been KIA a few years before I had met Dragon. That's were the Takayuurei part of my name came from. He taught me about the ancient culture he had been descended from, the Japanese; I told him about mine, the Celts. He taught me a trick that some of the ancient samurai, or ancient Japanese warriors, had done while either injured or weary and still in circumstances that they had to either keep moving in or endure. It was a type of training that helped them send their mind elsewhere while at the same time understanding what was going on around them, but not reacting or doing anything to react."

"Like meditation."

"Not essentially, but close enough. I never cleared my mind of thoughts." She shrugged. "Anyway, when he got my attention again–"

"How?"

John _knew_ that Phaedra was trying to needle Willow into losing her cool by the consistent interruptions, but the older woman was smarter than that. "Oh, he stopped moving and called me 'human' enough times to make you retch. So he said that there was an old system called Claim that prevented humans to be raped by numerous Elites over and over again. And since my primary arm for sword-fighting was my right, he bit my left shoulder."

"He _bit_ you!"

Willow gave her daughter a _look_. "I never said that it was supposed to be civilized, now, did I? This was from Covenant prehistory, when the Sangheili were still their own culture and didn't even _know_ about the Prophets. Claim is the archaic way that says that whoever did the Claim, always a male, since it's that kind of society, believes that the mate of their choice is their equal or higher in every way. The Claimed goes where the Elite goes and does what they do, sometimes even past their death. Brutes always thought that Claim meant crap, basically, and in torture situations when a Prophet wasn't around, they always violated the Claim. If it was known that a Brute violated a Claim, they were killed in a way that made what _I_ had gone through look and feel like a massage."

"Pleasant," John grumbled. "That's why you never told me the consequences, eh?" Willow smiled sweetly to John, and he chuckled, shaking his head. "Nevermind, Willow, nevermind."

"So why are there two? And why are both fresh?" Phaedra asked.

"This left one was created twenty-five years ago, on the day we met. It's how he saved me from being given to another Elite. Even a Brute wouldn't be so stupid as to have another Elite interfere with a Claim. On the exact day of our twenty-fifth anniversary, he reopened it, symbolizing the first day, the first blood he spilled. Then he did the same to my right shoulder, as a symbol that he would love me until the end, whatever end that may be. It's almost like a renewal of the marriage vows." She shrugged. "Frankly, they're the only scars I'm proud of, and will always _be_ proud of."

Phaedra shook her head. "But you and Dad . . ."

John sighed and walked over to his daughter, resting his hands upon her shoulders and getting her attention. "Phae, I knew that if Arbiter returned, Willow was his. I knew that I shouldn't have _ever_ been with her in the first place. Forbidden territory. But . . . things happened the way they did."

"Why couldn't you have stayed?"

"Direct order, a direct assignment to the Boston area." He shook his head. "I can't disobey. A dishonorable discharge isn't something I would want before I retire."

"But . . ."

"Things happened the way they did for a reason, Phaedra. Listen to me, if nobody else. They happened they way they did for a _reason_. Why? I don't know. But that's how it is."

Hot tears splashed down Phaedra's face, and Willow stood to embrace her eldest. "I've always loved you, Phaedra. I called your father weekly to see how you were doing. He called me whenever he needed advice, ever since you were two days old. I remember. I wish I could have been there for every birthday, every holiday . . . _every single day _I've missed you."

Pandora and Orion looked to their father, who shrugged, and they walked over so that one each leaned against a side. They had come to terms long ago with what was their situation. Orion was the first to understand, and he helped Pandora, who also went and spent time with her father. They had long talks at night, sometimes, about things that had been, and about things that _hadn't_ been. They had this kind of talk almost six months ago, and her tears had been spent upon her father's shoulder for the first time in almost nineteen years. And so she understood how Phaedra needed the time and inclination to cry upon her mother's shoulder.

Willow smiled, saying, "John told me once how you had found a stack of presents about seven years ago, hidden up in the attic."

"Y-yeah?" came the hiccuping reply.

"And these two knew not to touch a certain pile of presents that _I_ had accumulated over the years in a certain second master-bedroom closet, meant specifically for a certain little someone who was missing out on some serious fun with tumbling around with Elites of her same age."

Phaedra looked up at her mother. "What?"

"I have many gifts I've been itching to give you. And I can't _wait_ to see your face when you open them."

"But . . ."

"I'm a mother, humor me!" she laughed. "Come on, then. There aren't any missions for the next few weeks, as far as we're concerned. The 'Threes can handle anything that's thrown at them for a while." Her smile was warm as she wiped her daughter's tears. "You'll be living with whoever you want to at this point. Your father and your adopted mother will be moving back into the Spartan-Sangheili Complex, if they haven't already, and your brother will soon be boarding at the second campus, which will be within walking distance of his college. He's changed his major to Alien Relations and Counseling, and since he's the only one in that major, he's getting special tutoring from Leader."

"'Only one in that major,' Willow? Hah! Leader started that new major just for _him_, since he _knew_ what Aidon was going to ask to do!" John replied. "That second son of mine would have proposed that it become a new major!"

"Well, he's Miranda's son, what are you expecting from him! John Spaldin, you annoy me!"

The door slid open, and Arbiter blinked. "Oh. Ah. Didn't mean to interrupt, but . . ."

Something was up. Willow sighed. "Oh, what now? You only use that tone when you're about to say something serious."

"Boratamee . . ."

"Yes . . . ?" Willow asked.

"And Yukae . . ."

"_Yes_ . . . ?" John chorused with Willow.

"Well . . . they've Claimed each other."

"_WHAT! WHEN!"_ Willow screeched, staring at her husband in sheer incredulity.

"Last night."

"So _that's_ where she had been!" Orion exclaimed as Pandora was laughing too hard to do or say anything.

Phaedra blinked. "So . . . this is something new, then?"

"Dual Claim?" Willow asked her in return.

"Not essentially," Arbiter replied. "Unusual, possibly, as it's generally been a male Claiming a female, and . . . not at the same time."

Willow shook her head. "Gre-eat. So where's that brat of yours?"

"In our quarters." He snickered. "And most likely about ready to crack since I took my time coming to tell you. And I suggest that we take our time returning."

"You want to grieve her because neither of them came to you."

"Exactly." The Sangheili looked to Phaedra, who was still holding onto her mother. And smiled. "Now for you. You've grown as beautiful as your mother, just as wise and ferocious, and by the Rings, I am glad to see you with your siblings again."

The young leader burst into tears again, causing Willow to chuckle and wrap her arms around her eldest. John shooed the other two of the three off, until it was only him, Arbiter, Willow, and his daughter in the room. He heard Phaedra's voice, cracking and thick with tears and emotion. "I want to hate him. I want to really hate him."

Arbiter rested his fingers lightly upon her shoulder. "Tell me why you want me dead, little daughter of my wife and my brother."

More tears. Then, "Because Dad and Mom can't be together."

"But your father is already married to another woman. One whom he loves, and is loved by," Arbiter replied, his hand now going through the red hair, knowing that the motion calmed Pandora, and that it showed that he didn't want her to hate him. "Your brother, Aidon, has known John as his father since he could remember. Would you take that from him?"

Phaedra shook her head.

"Would you take your father's happiness away?"

The young woman looked up at the Elite, saw his gaze tenderly upon her. "What?"

"Your father is happy with where he is. He's happy with you and your siblings just as you are. He's happy with his wife."

"How do you know?" Phaedra asked brokenly.

She felt another set of hands, her father's upon her shoulders, and then felt as he pulled both her and her mother into an embrace, kissing the paling skin of his daughter. "Because, little one, I told him. He trusts me, just as I trust him."

"But . . . Daddie . . ."

"Shh, now. I know you're still not content with the way things are, but remember something, little love."

"Y-yeah?"

"No matter how things work will out, no matter how they worked out in the past . . . I'll always love you, your brother and sister, and I'll always be there for you. And for your mother and her walking, talking target of a husband."

"You're pushing it, Demon," Torilian said in a mock-growl.

"Uh-huh. And what are you planning to do about it?"

Smirking, the Elite swiftly picked his wife up and out of the embrace to put her over one shoulder, then wrangled Phaedra into the same sort of position on his other shoulder before picking John up and walking with all three out into the hall, hearing his wife's laughter mingling with Phaedra's. Pandora and John Orion blinked in sheer dumbfounded amazement as they watched the spectacle pass them and towards Willow and the Arbiter's temporary room.

Maybe things would be looking up from here.


	8. Epilogue

The Seraph's Broken Wings  
By: Sinead

Epilogue

"Mom?"

"Yeah?"

"Is that really how it happened?"

"You bet."

"So that's who you named me after. But . . . why did you name me after . . ."

"_Her_?"

"Yeah."

"Because she would have loved it."

A Spartan-bred girl watched her mother's face carefully, seeing the pain still there. "How did Auntie die?"

"She saved your Uncle John's life. We were fighting the Covenant in the last big battle, right in the front lines to help the Marines keep things in check, and she took a grenade to the chest for him. She survived long enough to tell her husband that she loved him and that she would wait for him up in heaven."

"That's where all the good people go?"

"Yes, little darling, that's where all the good people go."

"Auntie musta been _really_ good."

"Hah. She was as big a troublemaker as they come."

Another Spartan looked in on the two. "Hey, you're still up?" The small girl nodded, and her father picked her up to sit next to his wife. "Your brothers are fast asleep."

"I wanted to know why I have my name."

"And did your Mum tell you?"

"Uh-huh. I would have liked to meet Auntie."

Westin smiled. "Yeah. She would have loved you, kiddo. She was a real gem. A real sweet lady." He set her back in her bed, tucking her in. "Now. You get yourself to sleep before you wake your grouchy grandfathers up."

"Yes, Daddy!"

The Spartan lead his wife back into the hall, closing their daughter's door softly. She smiled at him. "So."

"So. You told her."

"She wanted to know, Wes."

"Aah, I know, I know." His eyes met hers, and he heard the door open again. Turning with a smile, he picked his daughter up. "You, little missy . . ."

"Can I stay with Granpa Rilly?"

Chuckling at the name they had given to her adopted father, Pandora laughed. "Sure. But don't you bug him with questions, you hear? Not about your name or nothing. Okay?"

"Yes, Mommie."

"That's my girl."

As Westin brought their youngest child down to where the elderly Sangheili resided, she sighed, looking down at her hands before walking out to the balcony. Smiling, she pulled the blanket around her biological father's shoulders tighter. "Dad, you'll catch yourself something if you don't keep yourself warm. You're not young anymore."

"Pan, you stop coddling me . . ."

"Daddy . . ."

"Aaah . . ."

"Come back inside and I'll make you some tea to warm those old bones of yours."

She helped the old man inside, settling him upon a chair to move around the kitchen easily in her forty-seventh year of life. She heard the now-soft voice of her father. "I miss her."

"There are three 'hers' that you can be missing, Da."

"All of them."

Sitting next to John with the tea, she smiled. "I know. I miss them all."

"Aah, Miranda was too young . . ."

"You know that it wasn't your fault."

"Yes, I know that, but . . ."

"You still miss her terribly."

"I do. And your sister."

Pandora pulled her hair back. "Yukae chose her time. I'm honored that Boratamee and Torilian allowed me to call my own daughter after the sister who loved us. And I'm grateful that you allowed me to call her after Miranda, too."

"She would have loved to see your children." He paused. "Nobody will tell me how Willow is."

"Tiring. She says that her time will be soon, and is spending her days with the children."

"And Boratamee's youngest?"

"Still sickly, but otherwise she's doing well."

Pandora sighed, sitting against her father's arm, resting her head upon his shoulder. He raised a large hand to brush through her hair as Phaedra and John Orion walked in. They sat together in silence before Orion whispered, "It's been seven years, Pan."

She nodded, still resting against her father. Seven years since she had lost her sister. But . . . also . . . seven years since her first daughter, who would have been ten, was killed. Her name had been Rosaleen Aidana.

Three boys came into the room. The eldest was eighteen, the younger two boys were twins at fifteen. All of them remembered little Rosie, as she had been known, and stood around their mother. Their five-year-old sister Yukae was a blessing, it was sure, but each would have a special place for their other sister that they had lost.

And for their aunt Yukae. And their adoptive Grannie Mirandy, who always got them to smile and laugh.

Willow came in upon a specially-designed chair that had been partially-derived from what the Prophets once used. It was utilitarian and less ornate, and it did its purpose. The mother sighed. "Where's Yukie?"

"With the old man."

"You let him hear that . . ."

"And he can't do nuthin'. He's slower than I am."

Willow chuckled, and the hovering chair came to rest beside the man who had fathered her children. And they talked long in the night, remembering friends gone and past, alive only in memory. It was a good long talk, with many happy times, many sad times, laughter and tears.

And where their story ended . . . how they lived their lives to their ends . . .

That is for you to decide.

_**

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Final Author's Note: Thank you for reading this. I really appreciate it, and I hope that you enjoyed it. I hope that if you have any final questions or comments or speculations, that you'd get in contact with me so that I can answer whatever you'd like to know. Again, my most sincere thanks for reading this story of mine.**_


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